Rock Star
by Pollux Unbound
Summary: Ichigo adores Ulquiorra, the vocalist of their band, but sometimes he can't help thinking that Grimmjow, a rising star from a post-grunge band, could be just as charming. AU. GrimmIchi UlquiIchi
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.

Intro: Some people worship rock stars, who can be likened to gods, from afar. Others bridge the common gap between fans and stars with concert tickets and first-row seats, even backstage passes. But, all the same, they don't know them at any depth, at any extent beyond what they read from magazines and websites. Kurosaki Ichigo, apart from the despairing crowd, however, is playing a bass guitar alongside his rock icon, his hidden inspiration, Ulquiorra Scheiffer, on a stage in the face of a five thousand-strong audience. And somewhere far, far from this madding crowd, Grimmjow Jaggerjack and his three other companions are breaking through the music scene-with style.

Chapter 1

Although he had a driver's license, Kurosaki Ichigo didn't own a car, nor would he at any measurable time ahead, or so he believed. At any rate, he was in a band. This band, with quite an amount of help from luck, had recently managed to shoot through the five-hundred-thousand-copies-sold barrier which separated A-listers from their less notable counterpart, B-listers. He fancied he couldn't have asked for more from their first big break, all the while wondering if the merits he received somehow registered any scale of parallelisms with what he was made of. He was twenty-one years old, for crying out loud, and still in the process of nurturing his chin and jaw for some hope for a goatie, or better yet, if his genes would dare permit it, sideburns.

He unclipped his mobile phone, not really knowing what to expect, and tucked it away in his pocket upon seeing the blankness on the screen. Ulquiorra, the vocalist, still hadn't checked in. He wasn't one to get drunk on any occasion in whatever name of celebration, that Ichigo was sure of, and most certainly not one to get stoned. But at the back of his mind, he fancied it would be better to hear Ulquiorra getting high on something, too wasted to send text messages, than to know he was alright and doing well but had chosen instead not to send him congratulatory remarks at a time like this. After all, this was good news for the four of them. Moreover, his other two band-mates had bothered to punch his number for a short call in celebration of their recently acquired success.

Maybe he's too goddamn busy with the fucking manager.

Uncertain of its accuracy, he allowed this particular thought to run his mind as he made his way to the studio. Nevertheless, he would soon find out anyway. He entered the small lobby, his listlessness almost qualifying as inebriety, and walked in on Inoue Orihime, the manager, and the constant occupant of his thoughts, Ulquiorra Scheiffer, whose talents he could only wish to rival. The pair was seated across each other, heads bowed over several photos scattered on the table. The manager grinned at him, which prompted him to exert some effort to return the smile. He sat beside Ulquiorra.

"Care to tell me what these photos are all about?" Ichigo inquired.

"The image consultant sent these. I gather we're supposed to get ideas of which to wear and other such superficial matters from these, er, provocative getups." Inoue explained.

Ichigo simply failed to understand why he could only grant slight faith to her opinions, or anything that might come out her mouth. He did know, however, that this sort of concern never would require real thinking nor serious attention. As such, he thought it completely unnecessary and wrong that these two should enclose themselves in a tiny room where there was so little air to breathe. Furthermore, the fact that there was a decent distance between them was a worn-out excuse for an intimate moment with Ulquiorra, in so far as his eyes had born witness to all her attempts to get close to the vocalist.

But these two were really close to begin with. In fact, she knew Ulquiorra Scheiffer best, no matter how often he regarded her without any touch of affection or anything near it. Setting aside their differences, the unspoken connection between them, any fool could tell how madly she was in love with him. All along, Ichigo hadn't been alien to that idea. Only that sometimes it pissed him like hell.

"I don't mind wearing garments of this sort." Ulquiorra spoke, pointing at the skinny dude on one of the photos. Clearly, he was bored and was losing interest in anything that might hold any connection with the subject being tackled.

"Alright. It's settled, then." The manager exclaimed.

Ulquiorra rose to his feet, with no intentions of elaborating his dismal dialogue. His signal of departure, though vague, made Kurosaki give out a nondescript sigh.

"Where are you going, sempai?" Kurosaki asked.

"To the bookstore, maybe. Somewhere I can breathe." his tone was about as inviting as a curse.

"Catch ya later." Ichigo replied, rather despondently.

Ichigo gave Orihime a slight nod and pelted towards the exit, without batting an eye at Ulquiorra when he brushed past him. On the street, the sky seemed to have grown bleaker than the winter chill. Under the heavy-looking clouds, he wondered if there would ever be a change in the vocalist's impression towards the people around him. He didn't want to admit it, but what people saw in this dude was not much far from what he really was; a social recluse who could last any day with only a phrase or two. And that was the quintessential factor that made him somewhat adorable to the unsuspecting public. Simply put, to lose that stature would have been the same as quitting fame altogether.

"Ichigo."

The youth slowed to a halt, recognizing the voice right away.

"Ulquiorra-sempai, need anything?"

Ulquiorra heaved himself beside him, egging them both to resume their tread. As though he was in the mood to get serious, he answered,

"I'm beginning to think we need to replace our manager."

Ichigo's legs ceased to move, to which the other responded by pulling over.

"Inoue-san? Why?"

"She should give herself a break. I've been noticing things lately, things I wouldn't have given the slightest regard to if she hadn't been so repetitive in doing them."

"Such as?"

"Well, she keeps toppling things over, my coffee for instance, and misplacing important documents, not to mention the occasional stutter. I reckon her work load has gone more strenuous than what she's used to."

"That's all? You're gonna fire her just for that? What if she's under some emotional stress unknown to us?"

"Like a family member suffering a terminal illness or a disastrous fallout with someone? Then, that gives me all the more reason to relieve her of her services." The vocalist said mechanically, making his finality easier to discern.

"Sempai, give it more time. She needs this job and, more than that, we sort of need her."

Ulquiorra sighed, his displeasure for going through the trouble of speaking fairly readable.

"This morning she called me over, waking me up earlier than I would've preferred, apparently fussing over something serious. When I got to the studio, I found myself deciphering a train of clumsy sentences, which was all she could produce for an explanation. That wasn't a good excuse for hauling me out of bed at seven in the morning, was it? So when you barged in on us earlier, I had been frying my arse for three hours already. But to tell the whole truth, she's done that to me thrice this week."

"Did you ask her what the matter was?"

"Yeah, I did, as a matter of fact, and what I got for an answer was a deck of photos with pretentious, self-proclaimed musicians on them."

Unable to share the same sentiments, Kurosaki stared off the pavement, as if mulling over the next thing his voice had in store. Surely, he thought, it would be next to painless to learn the obvious truth. Feeling impelled to do otherwise, he spoke,

"She's in love with you, for Pete's sake. I don't understand why it has to take you several calls in the morning and the news from a random band-mate to realize that."

The vocalist didn't even pitch the mildest of disconcertion and only looked away. His silence made Kurosaki especially uneasy.

"Is she?"

"Yeah, very much."

"Well, Ichigo, we're gonna have problems with that."

"Yeah, I figured that much."

"Can you fire her for me?"

"What?" Ichigo inquired, with a tinge of bewilderment. "I can't. I'm sorry, sempai."

"Should I beg?"

"No. It's just that it's not gonna happen. What good would it do to fire her anyway?"

Ulquiorra paused for a moment. As he was always rarely conscious of the effects of his startling green eyes, he turned to his band-mate, looked deeply in his eyes,

"I hate it when people fall in love with me."

Ichigo swallowed hard.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

He wasn't particularly fond of this sort of attitude and, as a fact, he was sure Ulquiorra was simply feeding his ego… something he would unlikely do, brilliant though he was. Try as he might, Ichigo could not venture to say his thoughts aloud, even if it meant changing the other's mind.

"Well, sempai, I suggest you start working on NOT hating it when people fall in love with you." He said, making his disapproval really show.

"I was kidding, if you didn't get it."

"Good. At any rate, I'm not firing her, and something tells me you can't fire her in her face either. So why don't we all get our happy endings?"

"On the contrary, I'm giving her a week to improve herself. If by then things haven't still gone as desired, well, someone's gonna pack her bags."

"Do start loosening up."

Ulquiorra headed for the other direction just like the way he always did when muttering a casual farewell would equal to effort. Ichigo resumed walking, still in the process of briefing what had taken place; Ulquiorra had just hinted on a provocative subject, one that concerned a rather personal matter. Maybe that was a progress.

Although he was thoroughly familiar with how capable Ulquiorra was of indifference, Ichigo couldn't remember when or how he had first looked upon the vocalist with admiration, the sort which wouldn't disperse amid the other's disagreeable nature. He remembered the very first time they had got acquainted, during which the thing that had struck him the most was the t-shirt Ulquiorra had been wearing; white, with the name 'Alice in Chains' printed across the chest. It had appeared to him a sign of one thing they could've most cordially agreed with.

Ichigo had loved Alice in Chains, worshipped the dead band with the same passion one would hold for his childhood hero. He had been in his early teens when news had broken out of the death of its vocalist, Layne Staley. He had been too young to care, too naive to cry, and too far away to be affected by the death of someone who had been stoned himself dead with heroine and cocaine for years. But he had found himself unable to eat and speak for hours afterwards. He had caught himself reaching out for his guitar, to strum the tunes which would never be sung live again with the same splendor they had possessed when Layne Staley himself had performed them. Little had he known that Ulquiorra Scheiffer had had every clothing article of the band made available in the Asian markets, and, unlike him, the vocalist had been in his late teens when Layne had died and hadn't been too young to cry nor too naïve to care, but only too devastated to speak and eat, too. Thus when Kurosaki Ichigo had hoisted himself up the stage more than a year ago to join the auditions, he had only had to pluck the notes he knew too well to win the primary judge's favors.

...

"One more time, everyone." Hisagi Shuuhei, the guitarist, called out to the other three.

Renji Abarai groaned and grudgingly adjusted the cymbals for the last run. Ichigo examined his fingers to see how thick the skin on the fingertips had gone. Ulquiorra was drinking from the mineral water bottle he had picked up from his foot. When he had finished downing its contents, the drummer clicked his drumsticks three times to commence the piece, as in actual gigs.

He barely looked, in all angles, like someone who could pull an eight-track performance with minimum repose. He was pale, incontestably underweight and, in sum, unhealthy altogether. As such might've been, no one took any step to dissuade him in what he was good at doing. Ulquiorra Scheiffer was simply a genius. Ichigo had long ago come to terms with what this dude was capable of, with the fact that he sounded so much like Eddie Vedder, if only he wouldn't gurgle the words the way Layne Staley had done. All the same, he figured that his band-mate was struggling with his search for an identity. Surely, possessing the 'golden baritone' was something a million out there would have sacrificed much for but, somehow, much was telling him Ulquiorra would rather have been spared the compliment. Nothing helped, though, not when they were playing 'Wishlist' by Pearl Jam.

"Give it up for Japan's Eddie Vedder." Renji hailed after hitting the closing, his delight for the session's end more pronounced than the praise he had uttered.

"Don't call me that." Ulquiorra said, a rather pleading note obscuring his distaste. Renji winked at him, apparently too accustomed to this repetitive exchange to shoot another pun.

Ichigo and Shuuhei darted towards the bar counter, where a couple of cognac bottles awaited them in stillness. Ichigo, from across the room, was watching Ulquiorra who was busy studying the music sheets.

"Doesn't he ever take a damn break?"

"Perhaps he will if you ask him to." Shuuhei suggested.

"No good. He's the same as ever, always doing things his way."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No, sempai. It's just that we've been here together for more than a year and he still doesn't talk like a normal dude-not to any of us including Inoue-san."

Shuuhei drained his glass, as if to gather moisture in his mouth for a long speech,

"That, Ichigo, is his primary asset. We don't call him the Goth Prince for nothing. But as far as I can tell, you've always been the one who gets to talk to him on a normal footing."

This gave Ichigo much to think about. If he remembered correctly, he had been to Ulquiorra's apartment, where he had seen for his own eyes the astounding number of interests they shared. Among many things, he was now coming to realize that the vocalist might have been holding him for a much higher respect than a band-mate to whom one would only pay attention during performances on or off-stage. No, he must be imagining it.

"Nah. We don't go along better than anyone else in this room."

It was a casual denial, if anything, from which a number of truths could be derived. For one thing, Inoue was always the first one to breach the recesses of the vocalist's shell, which tended to disassociate him from them all and their trivial conversations. For another, Ichigo himself was never the type to drive effort in the purpose of sparking any sort of relationship with someone who wouldn't talk with the bluntest of provocations… but still, he was the first one to ever set foot in Ulquiorra's apartment.

"Really? Do you remember the time when you tripped yourself off the stage and got knocked over, that time in F-?"

Ichigo could remember it as if it were his most treasured memory, although it wasn't anything as precious as a childhood fantasy. He had been at that time fueled by so much energy, ambushed by how lively and huge the crowd was. He had beenyoung, filled with all the zest of youthful vigor, and all along intoxicated by alcohol. The crowd had seemed to him a sea of faceless enchanters, beckoning to him, egging him to the ends of his enraptured consciousness. He had been a little too energized, had too much to drink, and fatigue had been overriding him. He had still played the tunes right, superbly maybe, making everything seem fine contrary to reality. As it was, losing balance at times like this wasn't in any way out of the lines drawn. In fact tipping over or diving into the crowd would appear entirely calculated and expected. Finally, as if deliberately flinging himself into the crowd, he had tripped into something and fumbled away from the stage, falling onto pairs of hands that seemed to await his weight. It had felt nice, alright, especially when the swarming palms had started to push him upward. From the stage, he had heard the vibrations of Renji's drums, the sound melting away into a very long solo. And then, still not in a state of mind to pull himself together, Ichigo had found himself facing Ulquiorra. The vocalist had had one of his slender arms suspended on this steel member erected on the stage, as part of the props, and the other arm outstretched before him, reaching out for something, someone. On understanding what it all had meant, Ichigo had stretched out his hand, to later on learn that Ulquiorra's weight and height stood in a striking lack of proportion against his strength. After that, Ichigo had staggered upward, his hand still enclosed by Ulquiorra's grip, engaged in a short staring match against the vocalist, and had found his heart beating faster than it had when he had been chased by a Rottweiler many years ago. And this all had happened in front of, what, a few thousand supporters and fans?

Yes, he could remember it too well, with all the colors and everything his senses acquired. But remarkable and strange as the experience had been, nothing would compare to what he got into next, in Ulquiorra's apartment where he had discovered many things about him and himself. It had been maybe around this time too, when he had listened to the Pearl Jam bootleg records Ulquiorra had in his collection, in which the latter especially took pride. He remembered sitting on the carpet with his back against the couch, while Ulquiorra had fixed themselves a few cans of beer. Halfway through the night, the vocalist had fallen asleep on the floor beside him, perhaps due to the absence of conversation between them.

It would've been okay, what with the night getting chilly without aid from the air-conditioning, if only the urge to be very near the sleeping vocalist would go away...

...

Miles away, a four-man band had just finished recording. Quickly and without further ado, the vocalist discharged himself as though repose right after a grueling vocal performance didn't sound nearly as appealing as a party in an exclusive club downtown. And a party in a club he indeed crashed, dispelling upon his entrance the general mood of the crowd.

"Let's give it up for Grimmjow Jaggerjack!" was the announcement that rose above their heads.

TBC

A/N: I wrote this three years ago, in 2009, therefore the timeline of the story follows the year mentioned; not 2012. Layne Staley died in 2002.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been relatively easy to suppress because, in spite of Ulquiorra's regular breathing and the serenity so hard to break, Ichigo had had a perfect sense of place. He had known the apparent consequences bound to come from this. No, he couldn't have kissed him, at least not in his lifetime and in his body. And that was the worst thing to remember.

...

At the end of the day, he managed to keep his appointment with his college pals, with quite a few minutes to spare upon his arrival at the restaurant. In time, he watched the best of his friends come through the door one by one, and moments later the table was being heaped with the season's freshest greens and crustaceans.

"So, Kurosaki, when do you plan on setting me up with Renji-kun?" Rangiku Matsumoto, the prettiest girl in his batch, initiated a rather humorous conversation.

"Rangiku, you can come on to him anytime and he'd be very happy to jump straight on your bed. Only that, I ain't gonna play any role in it."

"Why not?"

"Yeah, why not?" Rukia Kuchiki echoed.

"Because I don't wanna take the blame for a huge heartache, of a friend for that matter. He's a terrible, terrible womanizer, Rangiku; everyone knows that."

The other two dudes chuckled.

"So when are the free tickets landing in our pockets?" Kira Izuru asked.

"We haven't settled a definite date, much less a venue. I'll let you know for sure, though."

"Anyone seen Los Espada perform?" Toushiro Hitsugaya, youngest among them, contributed to the noise.

"Los Espada? That new hard-rock band emerging from Matsuoka?" Ichigo shared his vague knowledge of the mentioned group.

"That one." Hitsugaya confirmed and continued, with a note of caution, "Sold thousands of tickets and is hitting sales record with their debut album. Just thought I'd let you know."

"Oh."

"Well, is it getting into you, Ichigo?" Kira teased. "I shouldn't worry, of course, not when your recent single's still hot on number one in the nationwide charts."

"But I have to say," Rukia paused, her cheeks flushing color, "the vocalist is pretty sexy."

"Yeah, I have to agree with that. This room starts to gather heat with the mere mention of him." Rangiku agreed.

"I'll watch out for them, then." Ichigo said coolly.

"Do you rock stars have a set of standards for the members you choose? Like, a vocalist has to be as hot as this Grimmjow dude or Ulquiorra, and the other members are to be of lower ranks but not so much less as good-looking? I mean no offense to you." Rangiku inquired, as though this was a question not so different from technical stuff such as copies sold and other things found on paper.

"Grimmjow dude?" Ichigo asked instead.

"Yeah, he's the vocalist of the mentioned Los Espada."

"Oh. I wouldn't know, I swear. Sometimes talent scouts just pick up some random bloke from the trash bin who happens to have a face perfect for posters."

"So you admit- that you're pretty good-looking?"

"Don't start, Rangiku."

"Come on, the girls from the other tables can't keep their forks hitting the target. They're like gaping at you as if you're a product sold in stores."

"And if I'm not mistaken, I believe drool is hanging on the edge of their chins." Kira added.

"I'm in this super famous band, is that what you guys want to hear? Well, I can put a claim tag on that. But, as you ought to remember, it's been four years since I got myself a girlfriend."

"Way to go, kid. That's the confession I've been waiting to hear." Rangiku said, visibly satisfied, her hands clasped together. Everyone howled with laughter.

...

By the approach of midnight, they parted with affectionate farewells, with a number of vows to assemble again next week in another location. Ichigo descended a flight of stairs to the basement, where his black Ducati was awaiting him faithfully. He didn't prefer a car because it was too much trouble, economy-wise. Naturally, he first unhooked his helmet from the handle. Just then, his mobile phone rang.

"Yoh, Fujiwara, what's up?"

"Aren't you dropping in tonight? Renji was here for two hours."

Fujiwara was a club owner. He usually sent invitations to famous people to drop by his club, in which way people would be lured to buy their drinks there or conduct their infamous occupation within its VIP rooms. By principle, he had to promote the celebrities in return for their favors.

"Is he still there?"

"Nah. Shuuhei-kun checked in and hauled him out after seeing how wasted he was. So, you coming?"

"I'm sorry. It's rather late."

"But a party is getting down tonight! Los Espada's Grimmjow is here right now. You might wanna keep an eye on a competition."

"Competition?"

"There's been a lot of comparisons goin' on between Los Espada and you guys. I'm telling you, this place is crazy with him in it!"

"A-alright. Be there in twenty."

...

Grimmjow was most likely the reason why sex existed, or at least why too much of it was around. This was the thought that first entered Ichigo's head when he first saw him, and the only thought he would ever know to possess such a great consistency. It was the impression that didn't last long enough to remain an impression; it was pretty much the only truth that met no contest in the slightest.

With no explanation, Ichigo felt himself impelled to safeguard his mind and body from something still quite unknown to him. Grimmjow was stirring minds all over the place, but it didn't look like he was aware of the extents to which he could affect the crowd. And this bothered Ichigo a lot, for he had started to draw the picture, that Grimmjow was moving on his own accord, singing the song the way he liked to, and all the same not knowing what his movements did to people, as though he didn't know what appeal was but knew he had it anyway.

The worst was, he could really sing. There was an angry edge to his voice which he couldn't quite dispel, or otherwise risk to put aside, simply because that was his signature. All this wasn't a lot of comfort to Ichigo, of course. He expected him to be talented, but not this good and, as he would rather have denied it, dishy.

By the time Grimmjow had finished his business with the microphone, everyone was shouting for an encore, much to Ichigo's dismay. He wanted to size the fabulous vocalist in silence, to evaluate him, to see what he was made of, and he knew it was possible-if he could get close to him. The movements of the crowd, however, didn't suggest it was likely.

But Grimmjow hopped off the stage before anyone got the chance to change his mind. In his face was not a stitch of evidence of his intending to stay under the spotlight any longer.

"That's quite an attitude we have there, Mr. Grimmjow." Ichigo muttered beneath his breath, his fascination increasing quite without his knowledge, as the vocalist got himself lost between bodies and faces he didn't recognize.

"Woah! Kurosaki-kun is here!" Someone hailed.

It must've slipped his mind that hiding himself in anonymity was something he was never good at. Behind the failure was a number of things: one is that, a rock star with a celebrity power equal to his would find it hard to dodge public notice, especially in a place jam-packed with party animals; second, attention was one of his favorite things; and third, keeping a low profile may be easy to maintain at a place like where he was, but sometimes something like that wasn't so easy.

He could only wish he had enough luck to secure himself somewhere else, preferably outside the district, but the commotion he had now gathered seemed to have sealed away his prospective luck. In the hail of searching mentally for probable escape routes, he felt an iron grip around his wrist with quite enough force to pull him out of the mayhem.

"Hey, what's Grimmy-chan trying to do with Kurosaki-kun?" A very pretty girl yelped, from which a series of unending, exciting murmurings ensued.

Indeed, it was Grimmjow's fingers wrapped around his wrist.

"I should ask him the same." Ichigo answered, his eyes soliciting yet amused just as much.

"I'm borrowing him for just a little while." Grimmjow assured the worried faces, with not the tiniest indefiniteness in any syllable, as if he was entitled to whatsoever he desired. He resumed, "The party continues; DJ over there, some music if you please." he motioned at the DJ above, who at once rolled in the bounciest tune Ichigo had had the pleasure of hearing. With that, it appeared that Grimmjow couldn't help the sneer that crossed his face. He still had his fingers around Ichigo's wrist, and there was no sign that he was willing to let go anytime soon.

They entered a private room far behind the security and control area. In there, Ichigo spoke first,

"You just about made us look like a couple of homosexuals out there. No offense to your lot, but I could sue you for damaging my reputation, you know."

He didn't know how the sexist slur/joke went off, but it was concluded soon that the vocalist got the message straight away when he started to chuckle, extending the seconds by which Ichigo could've discovered why he was brought here in the first place.

The more twisted Grimmjow's face got, the more familiar it became. He was sure he knew him from somewhere…

"Kurosaki Ichigo, we meet again. I'm not gonna ask if you remember me or not, but I'm pretty sure it's high time we settle accounts here. You owe me a whole damn lot of something."

Grimmjow drew nearer, the moisture on his skin glittering beneath the lamps, giving way to quite a remarkable visual showcase.

And then Ichigo remembered.

"Oh shit. You're not that guy from Seibu High, are you?"

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Grimmjow shot him a questioning look, the sort which hinted least on curiosity; if anything, he seemed irritated. It occurred to Ichigo that this dude was the type who was nice in the first three seconds that you knew him and in the succeeding seconds would reveal his true colors.

"What the fuck is Seibu High?"

"This academy in the Kainan district… were you a pupil in there?"

"Doing narcotics so early in evening, aren't we?" Grimmjow inquired with humor and what seemed like annoyance.

"I don't do shit like that, excuse me. What do you want?"

Grimmjow's expression shifted to something else other than pleasant, perhaps due to how much Ichigo didn't remember but _should _remember.

"As I have said, you owe me something big and, unfortunately for you, I'm not the kind who'd scram away empty-handed."

His face was quite about in a range from which he could count the pores on Ichigo's face. Ichigo hastened to say something that might put on a hint about how uncool it was to have someone's face so close.

"Grimmjow, is that what they call you around? There seems to be a misunderstanding here. For a moment I mistook you for the guy I helped get expelled during high school. But since you don't seem to know what I'm yapping about, it should follow you ain't that dude and I'm in no way indebted to you, hence this meeting is over. Ciao."

Ichigo trooped past the unmoving Grimmjow, who in many ways wouldn't be appeased by anything that didn't offer adequate resolution. After all, the world had never once failed to supply him fortune and pleasure, and just about anything a guy of his age and stature would ask for, except on that one time in his life…

"You fucktard. You said you'd wait for me, asshole, _forever_. I suppose forever meant two fucking days for you."

Grimmjow's voice was struggling with anger which seemed to issue right from the bone. In the strangeness of this remark, that was the least that bothered Ichigo. After confirming he wasn't the same kid with whom he had had a brawl in high school, he was sure he had never talked to this dude in any time before, not even in his imagination. Yet, somehow, it discomfited him that Grimmjow reminded him of someone from a past buried in the pile of memories he couldn't displace. And this anger, this disappointment, this misplaced resentment issuing from the vocalist weren't the things you'd receive from a recent acquaintance.

"Er, man, take it easy. You clearly are mistaking me for someone else-"

"-darn fucking right. I was made to believe you were fucking cool, but now you're just a liar like anyone else."

"What? What are you talking about? You barely know me! Or you don't friggin' know me at all! I'm just someone who ran into the misfortune of having been mistaken for someone else-by you!"

Ichigo found himself explaining things in a manner his normal temper wouldn't have allowed. If Grimmjow hadn't been so much taller and more masculine than he was, his fist would go right into that handsome face.

"Screw it. I'm scramming."

Grimmjow marched away, leaving an impression so hard to digest, while Ichigo stood there, his face soured by consternation. He could still feel the vocalist's anger, an anger that could set havoc into motion, and he was quite sure Grimmjow's knuckles could deal him more than the customary bruises you'd gain from bouncers if you tested your luck.

"What the hell was that?" he asked himself the only question that came naturally to him.

…

The problem with him was, he always had trouble with remembering things. When he arrived in his apartment, he made for the only tool that could volunteer any clue to what he had just experienced; the internet.

Like a stalker, the first thing that piqued his interest was Grimmjow's personal background. He typed in a few keywords and was greeted by several search results from the faithful engine.

Grimmjow was twenty-four years old, the same age as Ulquiorra, was born in the coasts of K-, had Caucasian blood in him as much as it was obvious, just like Ulquiorra again, and was an orphan for as long as he could remember. He had been fostered by a distant relative, with financial aid from the account his late parents left in the bank. But he practically had grown up alone and had started earning for himself by the time he had been old enough to toil a living. Despite his relatives' motivation and support, he hadn't finished college owing to the fact that he had shown disinterest in education upon realizing he had only needed it for props and that it wouldn't have helped him in the pursuit of his passion. He was correct in all these, with his current success attesting to that.

Ichigo read on, not realizing how engrossed he was with this not so Cinderella-like tale. His eyes ran avidly through the texts until they met a piece of information that caught him wired.

"_Grimmjow's foremost influence is Layne Staley, the late vocalist of the super Seattle grunge band, Alice in Chains. As a worshipful tribute to the late artist, Grimmjow has a tattoo on his back identical to the one Layne Staley had, even in terms of location… he claims he's had it since he was thirteen..."_

Thirteen was a pretty young age to get a tattoo, even if you were a son of a gun living in a red light district. But Grimmjow was nobody's son, for he had been an orphan more than half his life… when this seemingly pointless information sank deep enough to introduce a point, everything else fell away into a deep oblivion.

This time, for real, Kurosaki Ichigo remembered who Grimmjow Jaggerjack was, and how important he was to him when he was young.

…

It was anybody's guess if he was stoned or dead or simply dozing. Well, there was no one to determine that anyway. Grimmjow Jaggerjack wasn't dead, nor was he sleeping. He was simply distraught and annoyed and, on the whole, angr-maybe sad, too. His body was stretched on the couch, with a few cans of beer strewn on the floor, the smoke of his partially finished cigar suffocating the other occupants of the room- insects and mites. Aside from his presence and the paraphernalia around him, his apartment was neat and expensive-looking.

He pressed his palm against his forehead, baring his clenched teeth with difficulty, so that one might think he was going through hell or high water, perhaps both.

Eleven years in all, and still not over that shit. And he couldn't help recalling every damn bit of it.

"_Jesus Christ/Deny your maker/He who tries/Will be wasted/…" the ten-year old Kurosaki Ichigo, with earphones plugging both his ears, was humming the disreputable lyrics as if he understood them very well. He was seated at the rearmost window seat of the bus, wallowing away in his own world, when a formidable-looking kid in his early teens took the seat beside him, without as much as inquiring about its availability._

"_Alice in Chains, huh? It's been three years since their last album." Grimmjow Jaggerjack, then thirteen years old or so, commented, his eyes glossy and blue. If he could be entirely honest without sounding so much like an excited and curious dork, he would've allowed a grin from himself, or worse held out his hand right away for a formal introduction._

_Ichigo disengaged one of the earphones from his ear as a form of courtesy. _

"_Oh. Yeah, well, some say they've disbanded because of Layne's drug addiction. Many say he's an unsalvageable mess." _

"_People say a lot of things. Know what, no one listens to them on this part of the globe, but…"_

"_They're the best group in the world." Ichigo finished what he couldn't phrase._

"_Yeah. Listen, My name's Jack. I'm thirteen."_

"_I'm Kurosaki Ichigo. I'm ten."_

_Grimmjow tried to suppress his amazement. _

"_A ten-year old with an ear for Grunge, that is, good music?"_

"_I've been asked the same thing."_

_They fell silent, as the distance the vehicle covered stretched on and on, until finally Grimmjow spoke,_

"_I live in K-, so I'm going off the next stop. It's been nice knowing you… I-well, I hope to see you again, Kurosaki-kun."_

"_I usually visit K-. Maybe I should give you a ring if I'm in town."_

"_Sounds good. Hey, I think I should tell you that I'm getting Layne Staley's tattoo, a permanent one, this coming Tuesday. I'd like you to be my witness, if it's possible."_

_Ichigo blinked and was taken aback._

"_But that would hurt." Worried, he said with a frown, just like a kid-which he was._

"_For Layne Staley, I'd take any level of pain." The answer came with conviction._

"_I- I hate to see people get hurt… but I'll be there on Tuesday, alright, after school. Perhaps I'll wait for you at the station." _

_Grimmjow cracked a smile, showing early signs of masculinity in his features. _

"_For Layne Staley."_

"_For Layne Staley." Ichigo repeated solemnly, knowing that their thoughts have drifted off somewhere remote, where it was so true that Alice in Chains would never make a comeback and that Layne Staley had lost half his brilliance-and would much later on lose his life, inevitably. _

"_I may come in a little late but I'll be there, okay? Be a good boy and wait."_

"_Sure. If it's for Layne Staley, I'll wait forever." _

_They both smiled at this, with the same innocent smile too difficult to find on people's faces, as between sands and stones, between young ones and adults. _

That was how Grimmjow had learned that souls do find one another even as they wander among the snares of the world. And he would've believed it too, if only the boy he had met on the bus had showed up the next Tuesday, or the day after that. He might not have lost hope after a week of waiting but, knowing too well, it could only have gone on for too long.

"Fuck forever."

Everyone was a fake; that had been his lesson.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: First and foremost, please be informed that this chapter is sucky, just as much as the rest of the story is, or will be. To be quite honest, despite the fact that this fic has been idling in my hard disk for two or more years, I still have not the slightest idea how it's gonna end.

...

"What in god's name is this, Ichigo?" Shuuhei demanded, dumping a photo on the table.

"It's a photo of me and Los Espada's vocalist." Ichigo answered like that should be obvious even to a three-year old.

"Don't get smart with me. What happened here?"

He sounded stern but not mad; only worried and maybe a little upset.

"He was at Fujiwara's, and so was I. The next thing I knew was, he was pulling me into some backroom somewhere. We talked a bit, with the scarcest of introductions because we seemed to have known each other by names and reputation. That's all. So I don't know what you're so worked up for."

"We don't want this sort of reputation, Ichigo. Members of Los Espada are famous for drug-related issues." Shuuhei's sternness alone established itself as a message of grand seriousness.

"We didn't do drugs; that's for sure. Besides, we were in the backroom for five minutes."

With good reasons, the guitarist raised an eyebrow. He opened his mouth, only for Renji to beat him into asking Ichigo,

"You didn't have sex, did you?"

"If that's a joke, Renji, I ain't laughing." Shuuhei warned.

"It is a joke… for people with humor. Shu-chan, I honestly can't tell what's so bad about interacting with dudes from other bands. If anything, we should get as much cooperation from them as possible. Who knows, Ichigo here might've just landed us a good deal. They can be our opening act on tour."

Shuuhei heaved a sigh, as if to demonstrate how ignorant the other two were.

"I'll tell you. I'm more concerned about this photo's effect on Ichigo and how the public might view this. Los Espada, well, dammit, here goes the bomb: I seriously think they're a bunch of drags, or at least two of them are. Did he try to do anything funny on you, Ichigo?"

"No, nothing like that. _Should _he?" It wasn't exactly a lie, but it sounded very much like one in the absence of vehemence in his answer. "Listen, I gotta bounce now. Good luck with your girl-hunt tonight."

Ichigo rose to his feet and at the same time Shuuhei motioned to bolt upright too. To his relief, Renji intercepted Shuuhei with a warning glance. When the youngest member of the band had gone, Renji spoke,

"If you tell me what your problem is, I'll stop it with the stupid jests."

"I've said it already; I don't like any of the Los Espada getting near any single one of us." Shuuhei almost spat back the words.

"Because you're pretty convinced they're all gay? You have hostility issues, seriously. I'd have thought sexist slurs were below you." It was as much a question as Renji was uneasy about this whole affair.

"Dude, they lip-lock on the fucking stage! In front of the camera!"

Renji screwed up his brow in a daze of incomprehension, opened and closed his mouth several times without managing a syllable, and fell silent. After a few seconds, he came up with a few words,

"Uhm, Michael Stipe French-kissed Eddie Vedder. Anthony Keidis did the same thing to Eddie later on. Tommy Lee repeated the trend with some other guy. And they're still rocks stars-"

"-those clearly were done for public amusement; they wouldn't mean anything even if tongue and saliva were involved." The guitarist said pointedly, as if repeating a line for a toddler to memorize. "Los Espada-have you seen them perform? I have. The lead guitarist, one they call Stark, is a very good-looking dude. He'd always do this solo on every song and, each time, as the other band members freeze to marvel at his little show, the bassist Szayel, a very pretty dude, would creep up behind him, slide a palm up Stark's chest and into his shirt to fondle what could be fondled there. The next thing you get to see is, Szayel's tongue is in Stark's ear. Now, that wouldn't have conveyed anything severely outrageous, would it? So to kill convention, Stark would respond by whatever means for the purpose of arousing the spectators. Happens every fucking time. When that's done, a long, passionate kiss ensues, apparently completing the somewhat out-of-this-world spectacle, if you'd rather call it that than conventional petting-in front of a huge audience with teenagers in it." Shuuhei finished, feeling himself to have imparted an annoying, unnecessary account of subjects better left unsaid.

Contrary to Shuuhei's expected reaction, Renji was eyeing him skeptically,

"Are you sure you didn't get yourself in a red-light district sort of bar, like a gay bar-"

"-man, if my eyes were deceiving me, then so were the eyes of three thousand people. Hell, you could Google Los Espada at this point to be shocked by the first image that's gonna greet you, which would be enough to throw away all intentions of cordiality you might wanna regard them with."

Renji didn't answer. Instead, he fetched his Macbook from the corner table, to see for his own eyes the truth, or lack thereof, in Shuuhei's crazy accusations against their rival band. At the end of the day, Shuuhei wasn't anywhere near insane.

…

In the meantime, Ichigo was debating against one thought over another, about how good it would be if he kicked himself in the nuts; not that it could reverse anything that belonged to the past. He reckoned that loneliness had been creeping up on him all along, all these years, and for that reason he couldn't afford himself a girlfriend, much less a serious relationship. But he held on tight, believing he was not the type who usually got depressed, only to get blasted with the full scale of reality when he had figured he more than worshipped Ulquiorra, but was attracted to him like a female should be.

And there was Grimmjow. Why had he forgotten that boy with whom he pledged something of great importance? Frankly, he couldn't remember. He was ten years old then, for Christ's sake.

"Don't mind me, please."

Ulquiorra had just emerged from the rooftop's entrance, a can of beer in his hand. Ichigo couldn't say if it was an apology for breaking the precious silence or merely an announcement of his presence.

"Sure." He found it rather peculiar that Ulquiorra took up the space beside him, when he could've planted himself elsewhere on the vast rooftop. "Why did you pull me up?" Ichigo blurted out.

He expected the vocalist to shoot him a questioning look, or any kind of look that might have pertained to him being nonsensical in such a featureless meeting. He felt the blank inside him grow bigger upon waiting for the answer, which would probably never come. But Ulquiorra answered,

"Why not? The crowd was going to devour you, and take you away. I wasn't about to let that happen."

Ichigo assured himself that he wasn't blushing, but was soon proven wrong when he noticed the goosebumps sprouting out the skin on his arms. Ulquiorra's straightforwardness might have had a part in this discomfort, or one might say it was the source of it.

"What was Layne Staley to you?" was the best he could say.

"Why ask that now? He's dead."

"So that's it? He's now no more than a mound of soil." Ichigo answered, restraining anger, somehow recognizing it as a reasonable emotion rather than a spontaneous one.

Ulquiorra cast him a cursory glance, not to examine him but to emphasize what he had to say. Slowly, like a grave priest reciting a eulogy, he spoke,

"When he kicked the bucket it was no surprise. He was asking for it, what with all the substances he injected himself with. Inevitable and predictable as it was, it all made me very angry, as if I'd been abandoned, even betrayed-by someone who didn't even give a damn hoot if snotty runts like me existed or not. I was seventeen, and I never knew him at any depth, at least not personally. I never saw Alice in Chains live and had no collection of their tour footages as there was not enough media outlets to access at that time. I comforted myself with the hope that someday, when I finally got to heap up the right amount of Benjamins to fly out here to meet them, Layne in particular, I'd fulfill that schoolboy dream of shaking his bony hands and hearing that distinct voice of his in person. But Layne destroyed that dream right before I took on the first step to get closer to him or to the opportunity of meeting him. And how did my hero die? By lethal doses of Cocaine and heroin. I would've done better than to expect he valued his life as much as to fucking stay alive for all us stupid punks who wanted to lick his boots and kiss the ground he walked on. If that doesn't answer your question, well, Layne Staley was this fucking selfish turd of a coke-whore who stoned himself dead and blasted a kid's dream to smithereens."

Guessing from his tone, he might've been really, deeply affected, or else he just didn't know how to talk right. Ichigo risked a glance, and regretted it the moment he caught sight of the other's grimness. Ulquiorra looked lost, musing over some unfathomable matter, making Ichigo think he had trespassed upon something gravely personal.

"People disappoint, that's why relying on anyone to any extent most definitely spells disappointment." Ichigo muttered, more to state a personal complaint than to commiserate with his companion. He was still thinking of Grimmjow Jaggerjack and the clear reality that, although he was excused for being too naive at the time of their very first meeting, he, by all accounts, had disappointed Grimmjow, perhaps had caused him sorrow, in a manner worth a thousand regrets.

"Can you imagine that for a moment, living without anyone to lean on?"

"Well, sempai, I kinda am standing beside someone who lives that way."

Ulquiorra didn't answer right away. Standing there, one had only to look at him to mistake the whole of this person as a truly solitary creature, who had shed its final resemblance to some portrait which failed to capture real human emotion. _Was he even capable of feelings in the first place?_

"Let's hope things won't stay that way for long. After all, maybe _you _can save me."

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

Ichigo couldn't say if it was a matter of mental security or something else. If Ulquiorra needed saving, he for sure wouldn't be asking for help, or even be hinting on it. But before he could produce another sound or let on a clue on how difficult it was to say anything, Ulquiorra had started bounding off to leave. Before long, he was gone.

He felt his heart hammer beneath his ribcage. If he was right in thinking he heard what he thought he heard, he should be carting himself to the nearest cardiologist.

His cellphone started to ring, taking him one step closer to the clinic.

"Renji, what's up?" his voice came irritably.

"Yoh, young man. Shuuhei, Ulquiorra, and I are going to see Los Espada live tonight. We'll pick you up at eight."

"Whoever said I'm going?"

"We'll pick you up at eight." Renji repeated, each syllable given its due emphasis, before pressing the 'end call' button.

...

He urged himself to put Ulquiorra and Grimmjow out of his mind, only gaining little success at every shot. Upon dumping this strategy, his intercom started to make hell as if to warn him of something major. And then he heard Renji's voice.

"Ichigo, step out now or we'll tear your apartment down."

"Fucking coming, Renji."

When he met them outside, he was right about ready to knock out all of Renji's perfectly even teeth, which unfortunately were the first things to greet him when the window of the black 300 C rolled down. He squeezed himself inside, hurled a lethal gaze at their drummer, and realized he had his elbow nudging the person beside him, Ulquiorra. Upon impulse, he winced and immediately turned to Renji, who spoke,

"You should thank me for the brilliant tickets."

"So I'm guessing amateur espionage is something you waste time on regularly." Ichigo started.

"You'll see."

When they got to the theatre, a group of young adults howled and shrieked to welcome them, as if they were the main attraction for the night.

"Too much for a low-profile entrance." Ichigo grumbled at Renji's ears.

Part of the security crew plunged headlong towards them to part the crowd, making a Red Sea sort of scenario along the entrance of the building. All the same, their appearance would probably be making tabloid headlines the next morning.

They were led to the first box, in which a handful of silver screen stars were waiting for the Unplugged performance to commence. Immediately Renji pushed through rows of seats to greet a number of young starlets, causing quite a serious case of mass furious blushing.

Moments later, the lights started to dim, silencing the crowd at once. One by one, the members of Los Espada emerged from the backstage, casually, as if the thick crowd was scarcely of any consequence to the event. First to take his post was the drummer, Jiruga, a tall guy whose grinning face indicated more than your usual amusement over rabid fans. Next came Szayel. Androgynous and voluptuous, he could've anchored any eyes fast on him. He was closely followed by Stark, the lead guitarist, a notably tall dude who happened to be quite good-looking. Finally, Grimmjow made his entrance, the cheers before him outplaying the ones given to his band-mates.

Ichigo could feel the hair on his skin bristle and knew it had nothing to do with Ulquiorra's nearness. He looked at Grimmjow, who was adjusting the microphone, his expressionless face unnerving as opposed to the good mood his band-mates were putting on display. Unceremoniously, Grimmjow drew the microphone to his lips to announce,

"We've been- we've been waiting a long time to do this show. We'd like to thank all ya here who have come to see us. We're gonna play some good songs tonight."

Ichigo couldn't miss the sudden movements Ulquiorra was making beside him despite the eruption of applause all around them. He took in his band mate's unusual behavior in silence, which was more difficult than mustering the courage to ask what the hell was the matter. Nevertheless, Grimmjow went on,

"Also, I'd like to acknowledge the presence of Helios for the honor of giving us audience." Los Espada's vocalist nodded at Ulquiorra and the other three who individually made a gesture of acknowledgement, somehow managing to obscure the fact that they were caught off guard by the introduction.

In due time, Grimmjow finally enumerated the track listing, announcing, "This first track goes to someone I know, or thought I knew. It's called 'Forever' as made famous by one of my favorite bands, Fuel, with Toryn Green on the vocals."

_Fuck the way I feel right now…_

_Forever is just some useless word you say_

_You threw it all away, didn't you?_

_I'll ever hope you someday feel this ache…_

It would've appeared exactly coincidental, maybe in some measure of consideration, if only Grimmjow wouldn't strain out the chorus too much and flash his eyes to where he was. As it was, Ichigo found it entirely pointless to deny the reality that the dude on the stage, now pushing the limits of his range through the high notes, was simply fucking brilliant. But all this vocal exhibition of competence was conveying very little to him. The song was for him, or else his name wasn't Kurosaki Ichigo, and he could only hope he was alone in the knowledge.

"Do you happen to know him?" Ulquiorra asked, his voice distant, though the curiosity in it equally in existence.

"Know who?" Ichigo asked.

"The vocalist, Grimmjow Jaggerjack."

The question seemed to have taken the composure out of him, leaving only hesitation, something he scarcely needed at the moment.

"I-yeah. We met at Fujiwara's two nights ago." Guilt was wearing his confidence down, though he didn't feel disposed to share the whole truth to anyone.

"Oh. In any case, he's a genius. He sings like an angry bloke, but you don't get to hear such a big voice around here…he sounds almost _golden._ Indeed his voice is golden, which he shows for the most part by imitating them Grunge gods. And, above all, I've heard of this guy. In short, he had been famous before he even joined a band."

Indeed, throughout the performance Grimmjow exhausted much of his vocal power that if he wasn't careful his voice box might be welcoming serious damage. And with all this being so evident, having just been dedicated a song to was the least of Ichigo's worries; Grimmjow was furious.

...

He couldn't remember how the concert ended. When the curtains closed, he noticed that his three band-mates had mutually decided to proceed to the backstage. He was sure they intended to exchange word with the Los Espada in amicable terms. But even as all this was taking place, his sense had yet to regain authority. Thus he pitched himself to the lobby, alone, dodging hungry fans who were coming onto him from all directions. And then in the midst of feeling shitty and responsible for some emotional gamble, he felt a hand on his shoulder,

"Let's go grab a drink."

It was Ulquiorra.

"I'll pass, sempai. I'll accompany you, though, wherever you may wish."

...

The apartment was very much in order. The vocalist motioned at him to grab a seat, making him feel less sore. Feeling his anxieties almost completely dissipated, Ichigo sank on the couch.

"Did the Fuel song bother you a lot, Ichigo?"

He was left with nothing but to absorb what the question meant and what good it was to answer it.

"Yeah."

That was his best offer of clarity, unfortunately. But seeing how casual it was to Ulquiorra, relief gulfed over him.

"Shall we play a good Fuel song, then?"

"Sounds refreshing, but you shouldn't try so hard-I mean, please don't go out of your way to do me this charity."

"Would that mean you deny me the pleasure?"

Ichigo stared at him, wanting to tell him he didn't look at it from that angle, being the selfish git that he was.

"Oh. If it doesn't have anything to do with me, then it's fine. Where's your guitar?"

"Right behind you."

Ichigo cradled the instrument with caution, as if to familiarize himself to it rather than to preserve its superb condition.

"Any Fuel song you know by heart, sempai?"

"'Falls on Me'. Is that fine with you?"

_I might change your life_

_I might save my world_

_Could you save me?_

When they hit the last chord, it struck Ichigo how unprepared he was to throw in a single word for the occasion. He could easily tell the other how effing brilliant he was, or ask him how he managed to keep the quality of his vocals undiminished, but that would just be lame. He garbled on anyway,

"Compliments to you."

Ulquiorra gave a shrug, something he always did whenever he didn't know which action to execute, allowing several seconds to pass out cold.

"I've been dazing myself all my life." Ulquiorra broke the silence, sounding entirely tired and, as Ichigo couldn't help noticing, lonely.

Ichigo looked at him, understanding the message right away but was puzzled all the same for having received such a disconnected response.

"We all get lost sometimes."

"Yeah…do you know, Ichigo, I felt like something was cut out from me with the way he looked at you, when he was forcing the air out of his lungs to tell you how much he hated you for taking him for granted? I almost wished I could feel something that strong."

He was sure he was in dire need of reality check. The first question to take form in his mind was obvious, so he took his time cursing himself for being an expert at leading conversations to a personal level, for knowing too well how to generate drama but failing to know what to do with it once it was there. All he could say was,

"How did you know he was singing that shit for me?"

"I just know."

"You weren't supposed to. Not you of all people."

"Why single me out for a special distinction?"

Ichigo sighed and surveyed Ulquiorra's face, reading his eyes, discovering eventually that they hid no romance, no problems, no thoughts, and nothing of the things he expected to be there. With that, he knew he shouldn't let his feelings be left to decay, and he said,

"For the same reason that's discomforting you now. You- I don't think you've ever been happy. Ever. I wish I could change that, sempai."

"You could, of course, if you forgot about Grimmjow Jaggerjack."

**TBC**

**Crap. dunno why i'm still writing this piece of crap.**


	7. Chapter 7

He had done it before, therefore there wasn't anything standing in the way of forgetting, of repeating the process, unless he'd lost his balls somewhere. Forgetting Grimmjow Jaggerjack all over again, he assumed, was as easy as letting things flow in their own course. After all, eleven years had passed.

"Sempai," Ichigo started, his voice panic-stricken and his cheeks smeared with color, "you know, it's really nothing…but I really wanna kiss you… can I?" He sounded as though someone was running after him thick and fast.

Ulquiorra was staring a him and, right about this time, Ichigo had started desperately dismantling his brain to joke his way out.

"Is this where it should come down to?"

"N-no. No, I didn't think so. Sorry for bringing it up." Ichigo answered, sounding thoroughly apologetic if nothing else, and looking halfway through dying and wanting it upon closer inspection. Eventually, a nagging, never-ending sense of vexation began to overtake him. He risked a glance at his band mate, to realize neither will nor longing would avail for his happy ending.

"Obviously." Ulquiorra said, his expression constituting nothing of any meaning or anything that might affect the course of their conversation.

"Yeah. That's what I thought. I'll split now." Ichigo straightened up. For a moment he considered himself lucky for managing to string a few words together, and in the next minute had begun to think of several other things worse than getting turned down. Death was worse, he mused.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, sempai, forget about it."

"No I won't. Why the hell are you being so hesitant?" This time, Ulquiorra was showing feelings, or else his voice was doing the job, pulling Ichigo's travel towards the door to a halt. All Ichigo could do was to second-guess if the vocalist was indeed agitated or simply annoyed or, in the most extreme probability, excited.

"Well, excuse me for being hesitant, dammit. It's just that I don't really know what you're asking of me in the first place. Save you, you say? What a load of crap, sempai." Ichigo tried to pick up from his last step with obvious difficulty, as if the carpet was sapping the strength off his legs. Inside, he might as well be bellowing curses on everything and anything he could name.

"You stupid prat."

Ichigo deduced there probably was not a thing, nor an event, in the world that might be capable of extracting real emotion from this dude; not even Layne's Staley's resurrection. He was staring at him like a zombie which couldn't quite make logic out of anything it saw.

"You're the prat and I can't stand you. But if you let me, and if you don't mind my persistence, I'll do it." Ichigo spat back, surprising even himself.

"Oh, you're really up to it? Then go right ahead."

Ichigo whipped around, so fired up by the taunt, and lunged at Ulquiorra, who didn't have the time to back away. Just before allowing his honest intentions to take a definite form, he pushed the vocalist down the couch, pinning him against his weight, and kissed him in the mouth, amidst the barely intelligible protests.

Ulquiorra gasped, eyes popping wide, and was struggling powerlessly under the weight. Upon impulse, or whatever the premises required, he speared the bassist's stomach with his knee, the only part of his body free from inhibition, though not before the other had managed to rob him of a good snogging.

Ichigo stopped, paralyzed, his excitement drained by the sudden pain. "What? You said 'go ahead'." He said irritably.

"You were serious? And you shoved your tongue right into-"

"-Just shut up." Ichigo hissed. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have the scarcest of guts to act thus, much less talk back to him, but he was sure this was not the time to fail himself, as what he had done many times before. Hence with what little wit he had left, which could otherwise be expended on salvaging his dignity or putting on one last act of decency, he ran his palm between Ulquiorra's legs.

"Stop it, dammit-"

"-who are you to talk? You're hard here already."

To cut the dispute, which seemed to honor no end, Ulquiorra subdued, heaved a sigh as something of a return, and closed his eyes, doing nothing to prevent his fate. After all, Ichigo was right about him being aroused.

"Fine. Be my guest, but make it fast."

…

Making out with Ulquiorra was, needless to say, a blast. If truth be told, he couldn't remember a time when he hadn't wanted to kiss him or grope whatever he had underneath those clothes and trousers. With little deliberation, he managed to convince himself that what had happened between them had been consensual and at the same time inconclusive.

On stage, though, Ulquiorra was simply otherworldly, altogether magnificent, and more or less was ten reincarnations away from a person anyone could coerce into a foreplay-with another guy. He was wearing a tight pair of black leather jeans, the very contour of his legs flaunted most delicately. He had his hair tied low and loose, so that several strands deprived the audience a perfect view of his face. He had been singing for 25 minutes straight, guitar in hand, without taking a gulp for a break. A few feet beside him, Ichigo, sweating and out of breath from all the vocal assistance he'd been rendering for the same amount of time, couldn't quite help marveling at their vocalist.

They were debuting a new track, which pretty much highlighted the similarities between Ulquiorra and western performers in matters of voice quality. But amidst the crowd's booming and the seemingly great success of the night, Ichigo could make out a few faces from the crowd that stood quite apart from the rest. Grimmjow Jaggerjack, along with the rest of Los Espada, was seated serenely on the second row, disinterest prominent in his face. Upon closer look, he looked as though he was all set up to knock all Ichigo's teeth out, an action of which he probably was entirely capable and to which he was entitled.

When the day dawned to an end, Ichigo sprinted towards the dressing room, outrunning even their assistants. To his great dismay, and horror of course, someone was already inside to witness how he scrambled his way through the door.

"Grand. That was quite a performance."

Grimmjow commented. He was fingering the accessories on the table, like a detective conducting a preliminary inspection.

"How the hell did you get here so fast?" Ichigo asked, his eyes bewildered.

"Aside from being a celebrity, I have a backstage pass."

Ichigo looked wildly around, searching for something he might prop up for defense and desperately hoping for his band mates and manager to walk in on them. It was fruitless, though, for he had always known the routine: Shuuhei and Renji were most likely saying hello to the fans, and he was more than sure Ulquiorra and Inoue had gone down the next room for a few private interviews.

"Grimmjow, I…" He faltered, knowing there was too much to say.

"Okay. Let's start all over again." Grimmjow proposed, and, finally turning his gaze on Ichigo, withdrew his hands from the display cupboard. He dredged on, casually, "My name's Grimmjow Jaggerjack. My closest friends prefer to call me Jack. I'm the lead vocalist of this post-Grunge band people like to call Los Espada. I'm a rock star, yeah, and my most favorite band of all time is Alice in Chains. Layne Staley, by the way, was my god, and still is."

Ichigo looked away, his breath growing heavier by the seconds. He was certain he wasn't alone with a murdering psychopath, but he might as well be-with the way his heart was racing.

"He… Layne Staley was my god too. I never-I didn't throw it away. I didn't throw us away. I meant to show up at the station, but…"

"You remember now?" Grimmjow was surveying him now, mildly perplexed, yet somehow amused.

"I-yeah. Too long ago it was. I was ten years old, and ten-year olds aren't always good at remembering, and worse still is they're capable of very little. I wasn't so sure about myself, and of you least of all. It was like a dream; you were a dream. And dreams are never real."

"And that's supposed to explain it?"

"I don't have anything else to say."

"Am I still a dream now?"

Ichigo stared at him, his glance searching, not with confusion but with something very akin to pain.

"That seems to be the case. You're a star now. And maybe I am, too. Perhaps we'll go on crossing paths, but not very often. I never thought the two kids who met on the bus, brought together by a common worship for a dying god, would grow up to be so famous. Necessarily, I'll start with you again, Jack-if that's how you wish to be addressed. My name is Kurosaki Ichigo. I'm the background vocalist and bassist of this band we now know as Helios. The only band I'd die for is Alice in Chains, whose late front man passed on to be my reason for music."

He felt like Grimmjow's eyes were orbiting around him, front to back, inside and out.

"Know what, I don't believe in coincidences. You know that meeting eleven years ago was more than just about liking Alice in Chains. Let's fly out of here, you and me."

As much as he suspected Grimmjow could be dangerous, he really couldn't do much if someone like the front man of Los Espada was requesting a private audience with him. What's more was, he had this feeling that he would soon be a traitor to something he had recently promised himself into. But, more than anything, he was aware of the current necessity; to make up for the years he had spent without ever thinking of the thirteen-year old boy on the bus.

"Er, yeah. If my consent is equivalent to an apology eleven years overdue."

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

He dared not ponder what was pulling Grimmjow to him, in fear of something he wasn't prepared for. He was sure, or was convinced, it wouldn't be attraction of all things and most certainly not hidden desire. Maybe it was something milder, like a personal interest, a special fondness to less complex beings such as himself.

Grimmjow's apartment was minimalist in style in every corner. While the pieces of furniture were only bare necessities of a decent lifestyle, alright, everything simply looked superb.

"Nice crib."

"Simplicity is beauty, when executed the correct way."

Seeing it with his own eyes, Ichigo didn't need to be informed of that, naturally. With all the marvels his eyes could absorb, he still couldn't tell what he was doing there.

"May I ask why you chose your place to hang out?"

"I wouldn't wanna run into people I know." Grimmjow answered, before assuming a serious face. He resumed, "I need to talk to you."

"Yeah, I sort of figured that much by myself."

"What do you say _we _collaborate? Not just you and me; Los Espada and Helios, together for the first time, on a single or something similar."

Ichigo frowned. "Business, I see. I'll have to sit it down with my fellows. What's on your mind?"

Grimmjow produced a six-pack of beer from the fridge, tossed one at his visitor, and sat beside him on the couch.

"We all have to make a living, or help people. What do you think your fellows are gonna say about this proposal?"

The bassist shifted uneasily, remembering a particular discussion. As far as he knew, Shuuhei, the chief songwriter of their band, quite disapproved of Los Espada's behavior on stage.

"Uhm, Grimmjow, I hope you don't mind my asking, but your two band-mates-"

"-Szayel and Stark, I'm guessing."

"Yeah. Are they, like, kissing out of nothing or something?" he managed to muster the courage to ask.

Grimmjow took a swig. Slowly, he set down the can on the table and spoke, with narrowed eyes,

"What do you think?"

"If I knew I wouldn't have asked."

"Any guesses?"

"Publicity stunt?"

"Oh, so you reckon we have to resort to that for attention?" Grimmjow said, a smile across his face, showing even the tiniest bits of his wicked features.

Ichigo felt impelled to say something smart. Instead,

"N-no. Forget I asked."

"They're not together, at least not officially, but they still kiss backstage, off-cam, and anywhere people can't and can see."

"Then they are together." Ichigo stated, much surer now.

"Hey, listen, I don't usually go around being defensive about issues that badly need defending, but they've made it clear they're NOT doing it to take fun on a different level. Little emo boys do that shit a lot-petting and foreplay- yet people don't call them emo _fags_. In fact, people think it's rather hot. Szayel and Stark aren't like that."

"Er, yeah, I'll quote you on that one, but that doesn't make it easier to understand, you know."

"Which part do you not understand?"

"If they're not doing it for fun, it must mean they're, like, in a relationship or something."

Grimmjow sighed, "You know, when Stark does his solos, you suddenly get this stupid feeling of wanting to kiss him. As it goes, being so near him during his little tricks won't be of any help. He is _that_ good."

"And why does he kiss Szayel back?" Ichigo pressed, hardly knowing that if he tried harder Grimmjow could just stuff the ashtray in his mouth.

"Wouldn't you kiss someone like Szayel back when he's burning for you?"

That made it clear, poor comfort as the thought was. He understood it all perfectly, understood how Szayel must have felt whenever Stark plucked the strings out to make his guitar wail whatever note he wanted it to. And if his thoughts served him right, he wasn't entirely alien to that sensation. In fact the more he tried to relate to it, the more he could imagine himself lip-locking a particular vocalist on stage.

"Er, yeah. That clears it up."

Grimmjow downed the last drop off his can. To Ichigo's great discomfort, he could feel the vocalist edge closer, reducing the distance between them, and henceforth concluded that things from here could easily go out of order.

"Did you ever think of me?" The vocalist asked all of a sudden.

Tension built up Ichigo's throat. With much alertness he brushed off all meaningless attempts to dodge the question.

"I-I, well, yeah. I-I did. Only that…"

"…only that, you forgot."

"I didn't forget. I just didn't think I'd see you again so there was no point in remembering."

"I got the tattoo. After realizing I was to have no witness, I scrubbed in the shop anyway and got myself a personal tribute to Layne Staley."

Ichigo choked back the lump in his throat. He glanced sideways at Grimmjow, who was sincere from any point of observation, while there was his self-righteous self, lying about having thought of him all along when the truth was he had had to comb for Grimmjow's personal background to reach a recollection.

"I sort of guessed that right."

Grimmjow was about to say something, when Ichigo's cellphone went raising hell. He checked the screen, throwing a furtive glance at his host to see if he was curious about the call, and buried the gadget beneath the nearest pillow to dispel the sound.

"Take the call; I don't mind."

"It's nothing urgent. Don't worry."

"Your eyes widened when you read the incoming. Anyway, if you have to go, try to mull over my proposal, okay?"

"The collaboration, yeah."

Ichigo's attention divided into multiplicity. The caller was Ulquiorra, and he just shoved the damned phone under a pillow.

"Who was that?"

"Who?"

"The caller."

"Oh. Er, one of my band-mates. He probably was just checking on me because I just disappeared like smoke, remember?"

"Call him back, then."

"Grimmjow, I have to go."

"Yeah, I got the message. Give me a call whenever."

"Right."

Ichigo did his best to smile upon turning to leave. He didn't think he had stayed long enough to clear anything or redeem himself to Grimmjow, but he was also well aware he wasn't cut out for a job like that anyway. If anything, he could just make things worse by tarrying longer.

Grimmjow rose to his feet to lead the way to the door. When they stood side by side, he towered over Ichigo by almost half a head. On their way to the door, the vocalist paused to survey his visitor.

"It's a good thing we got to sort a few things between us. But if I may make one request…" Grimmjow trailed off.

"Er, request for what?"

"A deal, rather… I'm sure producing a song with us isn't high on your list, for reasons difficult to elaborate. But I can tell Szayel and Stark to tone down their, er, bedroom-bound activities."

Ichigo blushed. "No, please don't trouble yourselves. If we got to agree on something we should make both sides comfortable. It's just business, right? No personal involvement required."

"But you completely misunderstand me, Kurosaki Ichigo. I'm trying to make a bargain here."

"A-alright. I'm listening." Ichigo said, his face soured by hesitation, for a revelation that seemed larger than the thought of gaping at Stark and Szayel making out in person.

Grimmmjow loomed a foot in front of him, subjecting the physical differences between their statures to quite a contrasting sight for no one to see.

"On tour I'll ask Szayel and Stark to keep their snogging into a minimum. In exchange for that great charity you, mighty bassist of Helios, shall make it a point to restrain from sticking too close to your vocalist while I'm around."

Ichigo tried to suppress a scoff, or else he was seriously choking in his own spit. Upon recovering, he asked,

"What are you saying, Grimmjow-san?"

"Skip the formal address."

"Grimmjow."

"That's better. Well, going back, I sort of can't handle rivals really well. You know, I've always been used to being mounted on the highest pedestal. And Ulquiorra might just tear that away from me." He explained with much confidence.

Other than learning Grimmjow wasn't the kind to yield the number one post to anyone, Ichigo wasn't sure he could follow.

"I'm not sure I follow you completely. But I'll admit you might just give Ulquiorra a run for his money with your three-octave wonder. It's just too bad that you guys are probably on par with each other in terms of talent."

Grimmjow shook his head. If Ichigo had only failed to notice the fascination playing in the odd corners the other's face he would've given him much credit.

"Four octaves, actually. But I'm hardly talking about _that_."

"Oh…"

Grimmjow ruffled the top of his head, almost too affectionately that Ichigo couldn't help shuddering from shoulders down.

"Don't make me too jealous, or all of Hades shall break loose."

As a rule, he had decreed himself to be attracted to one person at a time. If rules were meant to be broken, however, he more or less wasn't someone to struggle against what was fated to happen. And so he blushed, motionlessly inviting Grimmjow's advances, as the latter stooped low, as if to kiss him.

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

To his credit, he really did intend to avoid this. Furthermore, perhaps he had foreseen the possibilities but was unprepared for it. As things went, his legs felt like lead, and so did any other limb attached to his body.

"Grimmjow, stop." he sounded like a girl, among other squeaky little things.

"Stop what?"

Grimmjow's voice was softer now, as if deliberately trying to sound somewhat appealing, consequently heating up the corridor with his sultry behavior despite having done nothing more than ruffling the orange-head's hair.

"Calm down…" Ichigo heard himself say, still unable to force the vocalist away, perhaps due to a partial lack of will.

"I am calm and am not doing anything."

For a change, Grimmjow started to fiddle the bassist's shirt, slowly, as in the case of someone who wasn't much hasting to jump into bed. Apparently, he wasn't entirely lying about being calm.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

"Don't you think this is going too fast?"

"Not one bit."

Ichigo tried to resist, only succeeding to convey the least of discomfort. Within seconds, though, discomfort turned out to be the least of his worries, because Grimmjow had now reached a point where leaving Ichigo's belt buckled seemed to him an impossibility.

"Hey, wait now."

If the vocalist heard him at all he didn't show any sign that he did.

"What do you say we take this to the bedroom?"

The offer sounded tempting and altogether deadly, owing to the type of voice Grimmjow was using at the moment.

"No, please. I need to go."

Grimmjow kissed him in the mouth, drowning the rest of his speech. He was going downhill now, faster than he would've allowed himself to fall, and he knew it too well when he began to respond by returning every kiss, every heat delegated to him. Indeed, things started to get more serious when the vocalist shoved his palm inside his pants.

"You're a lousy liar. You're hard here already." Grimmjow informed him, before taking off his shirt to reveal a glorious set of six-pack.

What probably bothered him most was the fact that he hadn't got himself laid for three years. The last time had been with his first girlfriend, and that one hadn't even gone well. Looking at Grimmjow now, whose physical composition spoke nothing besides sex, didn't make him feel any better either. Feeling impelled to resist for the sake of his own virtues, Ichigo pulled away.

"No, I'm sorry. I can't sleep with you."

"I knew you'd say that." Grimmjow answered, neither disappointment nor distaste visible in his face. If anything, he looked more amused than he ever had been in the last five minutes.

It almost took Ichigo by surprise, having been only partly acquainted with the vocalist. Suddenly, he started to picture this stupid idea in his head. Since they had gone that far, he might just be in the mood to wrap the whole thing with style...But in the end, reason prevailed.

"Well, so long." Ichigo declared at last, deeming he had accorded the situation the ending it required.

"You're suggesting we put this to waste."

"This shouldn't have happened in the first place. Good bye, Grimmjow."

Grimmjow grinned. What made him do such was anyone's guess. Nevertheless, Ichigo was feeling vulnerable as ever, without knowing what to say next or which expression to assume. Ultimately, they parted, and he still couldn't tell what was making Grimmjow smile the way he did.

...

"So that's what happened. That doesn't quite justify the fact that you wouldn't answer our calls. I mean, the note you left was so sketchy-we went this near to suspecting you got kidnapped or something." Shuuhei remarked, with the sternest reproach he could manage.

"I'm sorry." Ichigo replied, and he could only hope none of the most specific occurrences last night ever crossed the suspicions of any of his band mates.

"Well, to speed things up, why should we do a song with Los Espada?"

"Why not?"

"Why not indeed, when we practically sound identical and we both have the most talented front-men ever to break into the country's stereos. I'll let our producer pick up from here. I'll see you later, Ichigo." The guitarist gave him a friendly tap before darting toward the door.

Beyond the glass partition, Ichigo could discern Inoue Orihime and Ulquiorra discussing something which probably was a funeral arrangement, or otherwise he was watching a reenactment from a movie scene. He couldn't hear them from where he was, as the recording chamber was sound-proof, but he was certain of one thing, that the manager was upset.

Moments later, Ulquiorra emerged from the room, leaving behind him a distraught Inoue. He pummeled directly to the door, without care for whoever might've been there to witness his scary exit, and disappeared into the world outside. Ichigo, with the onset of curiosity to support his guts, decided he should follow suit and offer comfort to the girl later.

In the basement parking, the vocalist probed the pockets of his jeans for the key of his '07 Camaro. Just when he had secured himself inside, Ichigo knocked on his window.

"Talk to me, sempai."

Ulquiorra glowered at him, which was a first time for Ichigo, actually.

"Get in."

They pelted on the highway, their speed inhuman, streaming along ordinary cars with ordinary people inside them, very much unlike the superstars that they were.

"Are you arguing with the manager?"

"She's arguing with me." The vocalist corrected.

"Oh. I'd have thought she wasn't the type to argue. What's the matter?"

"You."

There entered silence, where there was never a lack of awkwardness to wire him, although something like an absence of sound was always empty in any case.

"Me? What did I ever do?" Ichigo asked. He shifted nervously, knowing for a fact that he might've just caused Ulquiorra quite a lot of sleeping problems when he had forced him to make out with him a few nights ago. What he could not understand, however, was why something like that should be made public, or, more precisely, be made known to the manager.

"You disappeared last night right under our nose-"

"-I left a note!"

"Whether or not it was a bad move mattered very little. The fact is, it is _her _duty to keep an eye on each and every one of us. Instead, her priorities go along the lines of promotional arrangements-"

"-sempai, here's breaking news; you're being hard on her. It's just not fair that you should blame her for _my _misconduct."

Ulquiorra floored the gas pedal in perhaps a silly attempt to send them flying over the asphalt. With his eyes fastened on the road in slight focus, he must have been upset, mad, or simply deranged.

"You went poof with Grimmjow Jaggerjack. I watched it from the security cam."

"I did. I thought we've made that clear enough. He had this proposal-"

"-about some collaboration and shit. I know."

"Okay… you know it all along and it still bothers you?"

The scenery stretched and blurred past them to indicate how fast a Chevy could roll in when a no-care-for-the-world sort of person was behind the wheel.

"So then it's just a natural habit of yours to get yourself involved with vocalists and their apartments?"

Ichigo felt the blood rush to his head. He started to entertain lame ideas, like to make it clear he could punch the living daylights out of Ulquiorra, without anything as complicated as second thoughts, but he wasn't sure if he would be able to follow through on the threat.

"I'll thank you to remember that what I do in my spare time isn't any concern of yours. And, more importantly, perhaps I should remind you of a few things here, such as that you simply don't care about the people around you. Hence, being reprimanded by you is not necessary under any circumstances."

"I wasn't the one who begged for a kiss, _douche_."

"Goddammit, what the hell am I to you, anyway?"

"Maybe I should ask you that." Ulquiorra replied, with a voice so restrained it was hardly his. He shot a sideway glance at his passenger, who couldn't retaliate right away and only wished he hadn't asked anything logical.

If he were to tell the truth, he had wanted to confess his feelings to Ulquiorra more than he cared to admit to himself. He suddenly felt guilty, recognizing the bright sky outside as a blatant insult to all the things being said inside the Camaro.

"Joined the fucking band because of you, or at least part of the reason was you." The bassist mumbled barely above a whisper, not knowing where to start or how to say it the right way, "Before you got really famous, you played a song on Seibu High's Field Day-around four years ago, as part of this charity program, a campaign against drug-use, your sponsors were concocting. That's something you probably don't remember anymore. But I still do. The song was an ending theme to a small-time anime which aired back in the day when I was still in grade school. As it was, it made the higher proportion of the audience murmur in ignorant whispers for not knowing what the song was. On the other hand, you made me feel like I wasn't alone. The way you sang it, and the way you stood there, was all like a reminder of something so far away. I loved that song. I loved that fucking anime. I fancied my childhood revolved around it. And when your voice filled the grounds it swept on every goddamn head, to earn you the name Japan's Eddie Vedder. But from that moment on I knew you were one of those precious few who'd rather chase shadows than to thrive on and be the snatcher of spotlights. We were the same, were we not? Whatever it was, something stirred in my soul right then. I realized then that we were perhaps feeling similarly. We were obsessing over a dead era, _uselessly_. We were romanticizing something which was only good while it lasted. But then it felt so right."

The vocalist's lips curled bitterly into what looked like a smile on somebody else's face. He took his time musing, to try to steady himself, to produce an answer which eventually came out like a confession,

"My childhood revolved around that anime too, excuse me."

Ichigo stared, his face crimsoning, no doubt.

"Well, it was a good show, sempai."

"Look, there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

"What is it?"

"When you sang and played 'Nutshell' in the auditions I didn't know what to think. The entire shit consisted of four of the simplest chords, not to mention the basic strumming. It was a song anyone could play and sing. But at that time I was wearing my favorite AIC shirt, so when you announced your track choice I was more than sure you only did that to please me, as I was loudly broadcasting I was in love with the group. But when you took on the microphone…"

"…when I took on the mic…what?" Ichigo asked, his patience weaning away.

"You sounded eerily like the dead musician himself, like he had risen from the grave, just in time to ambush me."

That probably was the best compliment he had received in the entirety of his existence, or the worst, cruelest sarcasm he had ever been shot with.

"You're kidding."

"I'm not."

"Renji's pretty insistent on proving I sound like a banshee getting murdered second time around-"

"-should whatever anybody says matter? Should anything else?" Ulquiorra sounded fervent now, his pale skin and frail body contrasting against his volume.

"Then what is it that you wanna tell me?" Ichigo asked with quite about the equal amount of anger, and with reasons at that too.

"I don't know, dammit. I don't know if saying I like your vocals, nor liking it truly, would mean anything, much less amount to much. And if you really need to know, I've been very conducive to irritation lately, most likely because you-well-you're a vocalist as much as I am or Grimmjow is. And that _bothers _me."

"It bothers you? Why haven't you said anything? I could've quit-"

"-I don't want you to quit. If you quit what the hell's gonna happen to Helios? To me?"

Ichigo stared at him, difficult as it was, as there was nothing more appropriate he could do. Unless he was hallucinating, the driver seemed disturbed now.

"To you? Talented, perfect, flawless you? Can you really ask that with perfect honesty?"

"Do you even have to ask further, goddamit? Does the fact that I am fucking obsessed with Layne Staley procure any meaning to you? Should I be forced to admit I would've given fucking anything to sound like him, like _you_?"

It seemed ridiculous now to attempt reconciling his thoughts. He knew he was the type who hardly ever desired success, or complete satisfaction, and was sure he had seldom striven to win. And, of all things, he always had to labor for compliments. Under these circumstances he simply didn't know what to say, but he spoke anyway,

"I-it's not that bad, is it, sempai? L-let's grab a drink, shall we?"

"Envy and something else, Ichigo; these are the two things you've given me so far." Ulquiorra muttered, evidently feeling more disposed to quarrel-over something neither of them had control of-than to languish in contempt, in silence.

"Well, I'm sorry, dammit. Does this have to end up being my fault? Do you want me to never attempt to sing ever again?"

"No, not necessarily. Stay with me. Don't give yourself to someone like Grimmjow Jaggerjack. You _want _me, don't you?"

For someone like Kurosaki Ichigo, this was perhaps the hardest choice he ever would have to face.

**TBC**


	10. Chapter 10

Had Grimmjow been similar to other formidable performers he was so often compared to, Ulquiorra would have more than competition to worry about should circumstances choose to pit them against one another. Instead, what he saw in his rival, in fame and in love, was so apart from the appearance Grimmjow was so fond of projecting.

"The idea is, this joint performance must be subdued and quite apart from what our contemporaries usually pull. After all, we're trying to raise funds for the needy. I'm sure it should wax naturally, and should least of all require great effort to work." Los Espada's vocalist was saying, weighing each word carefully in what looked like an attempt to alleviate the tension. Indeed, there was a remarked coldness in Ulquiorra that was hard to ignore.

Inoue and Shuhei were seated across the talking Grimmjow, nodding occasionally in agreement to certain suggestions which Ulquiorra, on the other hand, found to be out of place. Whether Ulquiorra was being thoroughly earnest to disagree or simply found himself inclined to animosity he could not have said. All he knew was, he could only contest whatever it was that Grimmjow should propose, lest he himself be found foaming in the mouth-for some damn of a reason. He found himself _really _hating the man.

Beside Grimmjow, on his left, sat Jiruga, who couldn't quite take his eyes off Inoue. As if mesmerized by her beauty, he would inject his thoughts in the matter once in every little while should repose permit him to, if only to impress the woman across him.

Szayel, Stark and Renji were conversing genially at the bar counter-over a bottle of vodka. If they could hear what was being discussed on the other side of the room they sure weren't showing any indication of any sort of involvement, nor were they particularly interested anyway.

On the couch between the two loveseats, Ichigo, seated beside Ulquiorra, was giving it all his effort to appear cordial, if not altogether friendly. Decidedly, he resolved to keep his distance from Ulquiorra as per Grimmjow's request. The task, it seemed, wasn't anything near what one might refer to as a walk in the park because, apparently, some vocalist dude picked the most gorgeous time to be difficult. For some ungodly reason other than his extraordinary impulses, Ulquiorra was snatching all opportunities to stay close to his bassist, behaving as though there could be no absolute guarantee of welching the orange-head away from his scrutiny. As a response, Grimmjow initially assumed a mood which seemed to require instant departure. But, having promised himself to conduct things professionally, he overcame his feelings of jealousy.

"We're speaking of a long-drawn project here, something which can last weeks, am I getting this right?" Shuhei clarified.

"You are correct." Jiruga confirmed, looking at Inoue rather than the person who asked the question, prompting the Helios guitarist to go on.

"If I may say one thing, it's that I applaud your aim in the foremost. But I am very interested in how our sponsors take the whole of this."

Grimmjow cleared his throat before speaking, "Yes, this would not be possible without their support. I assure you, sir, that our expenses shall be very well covered. This side of the matter, however, shall be assessed by our managers for further development. As for the present, there appears to be no reason for this proposal to fall short of fulfillment."

Shuhei and Inoue cast each other a satisfied look.

Ichigo had the feeling that the vocalist had a great deal more to say than what he proposed to relate. He gazed at him with admiration, as he couldn't have helped doing anything less, wondering how trifles like charity work had taken its place in Grimmjow's mind and, more importantly, how genuine his devotion for it was. But all this was answered afterward when he got hold of a certain article lying on some odd corner of the world wide web. Grimmjow, though very much subject to public persecution due to some of his morally questionable inclinations, had always been successful in justifying these petty, otherwise rebellious, misdeeds by his diligent participation in charity works, for which he would infallibly refuse any sort of credit if he could help it.

This man, Ichigo thought, was more than anything he was given reason to expect. Being steadfastly indifferent to public opinion, Grimmjow was in more ways than one a notable person on his own right. And as Ichigo could not openly express his appreciation, he gazed at him with smiling eyes.

Grimmjow, as if detecting this silent tribute, returned the orange-head's gaze with a self-satisfied grin, and winked at him so that Ulquiorra would not miss every portion of this mutual exchange-to make matters worse. Neither discomfited nor curious, at least on the surface, Ulquiorra drank in the spectacle in silence, knowing that later recollection of the scene would leave him more bothered than he ever believed he was.

…

Making allowances for every display of courtesy, Nnoitora Jiruga opted to be the reserve drummer, giving way to Renji's preference, for the short-term charity tour. The members of Los Espada were mildly puzzled by his generosity but concluded eventually that their drummer was up to something. He was, in fact, up to something.

"I don't think I caught the rest of your name, my lady." He was telling the pretty manager.

"Orihime, Inoue Orihime." She answered as steadily as she could, finding Jiruga to be perfectly decent but straightforward nonetheless.

Ichigo, like Jiruga, decided to take the role of a reserve, upon acquiring this serious idea in which separating Stark and Szayel was an offense no less than trampling on some devout papist's principles. He wasn't entirely correct in this case, because Stark was really more than willing to award the stage to Shuhei, who was as good a guitarist as himself.

Upon taking the role of being the co-leader of the joint act Shuhei sentenced the day to an end, granting everyone a free afternoon but requesting everyone to resume rehearsal arrangements after lunch the next day. This was much for Ulquiorra's relief, as he could stand Grimmjow no longer. The fact that he was to inevitably spend long days ahead within the other's presence hadn't quite crossed his mind yet. In the meantime, his greatest and most immediate desire was to retire to his apartment and to read Haruki Murakami's latest novel; in short, to be rid of the bastard Grimmjow Jaggerjack.

But this relief was temporary, even disappointing, since he had initially made up his mind for the comfort of extricating himself from this enclosure where Grimmjow shimmered like gold. He was to approach his bassist to ask if the latter needed a lift to his apartment when the Los Espada front-man approached the orange-head before him, much to Ulquiorra's horror.

"I promised Arsenal Bar's owner I'd play a tune or two for them tonight. The place is ten minutes away from here. Care to come, Ichigo?" Grimmjow asked the bassist.

"Fine with me. But are we playing your, Los Espada's, songs?"

"No. Stark and Szayel ain't coming, if ya know what _that _means."

"I'll come, if you need a guitarist." It was Shuhei who answered. Evidently, he needed to refresh his pitch tonight. As it was, Grimmjow extended his gratitude.

Upon hearing this, the pale vocalist swiveled around to commence his exit, apparently plagued with displeasure. That aside, he was even more so annoyed for having gone unnoticed by his bassist, of all freakin' people.

"Ulquiorra, care to join us? I wish to see how this dual vocals trial is gonna pan out." Grimmjow called out to him, his manner genial, if only to justify the compliment which came with it.

The vocalist held his bearing in check, turned to them and modestly declined, convincing everyone that he was indeed in fair harmony with his surrounding and all the people in it- when the truth was just the exact opposite. Indeed, Ulquiorra didn't take the trouble to assess Ichigo's close interaction with Grimmjow, even as both had now started to laugh over some childish joke. They were, in fact, flirting. For all Ulquiorra knew, he had to get away.

When Ulquiorra had gone, Renji excused himself likewise, leaving Shuhei, Grimmjow, Ichigo and Jiruga to cover the line up, with the first two mentioned acting as vocalists. And so the four tucked themselves in Jiruga's SUV, to later on please a small audience.

"So what's the track listing for tonight?" Shuhei inquired.

"I'm thinking 'Hunger Strike', plus Cheap Trick's 'Surrender' should airtime permit it." Grimmjow answered.

"I fucking love those tracks."

…

The mere sound of his singing voice unnerved Ichigo. Grimmjow's vocals, remarkable for some of those qualities which bring it either envy or admiration, didn't simply strike Ichigo as powerful but also nostalgic, if not on the whole mystical. Somehow, he was being transported to his childhood, where the greater portion of the walls in his room had been covered with Transformers and Dragon Ball Z posters, back in time where internet and mobile phones had been hardly the best means of communication and of dispersing information. He was sure he used to hear the tune being played so often, but couldn't remember when and where. All he knew was, he was very young when he had first heard it. On top of that, he didn't expect something so deep could be recovered from his soul simply by listening to a song long lost in his recalling.

In the final analysis, the pro bono performance, though done in front of a rather small audience whose count didn't exceed two hundred, was fundamentally the type which could raise riots due to the place's loose security. But, as the venue was nothing more than a moderately sized hall which barely allowed breathing space for two hundred heads, nothing out of control ensued. Of course, any number of girls had mounted the stage at certain points, whereby they availed themselves the opportunity to engage the vocalists, Shuhei and Grimmjow, into dry lip-locks, right smack in the middle of singing. At first Ichigo found himself taking pains to ignore this mild lewdness, even more so because he did not expect this moral looseness on Shuhei's part any more than he expected himself to get laid with groupies tonight. But then again, expressing his own disapproval would have sounded somewhat hypocritical, as two girls had now drawn near him to award themselves the same honor they had previously snatched from Shuhei and Grimmjow, and he had no complaints there whatsoever. And thus outmatched by the crude realities that were now confronting him, he braced himself for the spectacle happening right beside him; Grimmjow suddenly neglected rendering vocal assistance and had left the floor entirely to Shuhei. The crowd's cheer grew vehement. Ichigo smiled at this, all the while not missing a note on his bass guitar. Why he was enjoying this night like no other he could not have said. But now Grimmjow was advancing toward him, and no sooner did Ichigo realize they were staring at each other than when the vocalist pointed the mic back to his lips to resume singing, his gaze never leaving Ichigo's. The gaze was very reminiscent of the one Szayel and Stark always shared in the prelude of their necking. And yet, Grimmjow held himself back, merely smelling the bassist's hair with considerable affection, to which the crowd erupted into meaningful wolf-whistles. At that Ichigo blushed, still maintaining the consistency of his role as a bassist. For the most part, it was anything but random.

If he was not mistaken, it was very easy to fall in love with this person, to worship him the way those who yearned for the past worshipped dead things.

No, he thought. This person could never belong to anyone, because to love him was to love something which didn't exist anymore. And for that reason alone, he concluded no man alive was lucky nor deserving enough to receive and earn the love of Grimmjow Jaggerjack.

And he was only a man.

TBC

A/N: Well, shit. been writing more stories than i can handle or care to finish. tsk tsk tsk. i will TRY to conclude this and try to upload once in a week or two. to my estimation this will span 14 chaps.


	11. Chapter 11

As it turned out, one could never truly rely on the media and other such publicities should you go through the profiles of celebrities which showed their practices in the worst possible light. For one thing, Nnoitora Jiruga wasn't a crack-whore, at least not anymore, as opposed to countless tabloid articles so amply circulated among magazine stands. But, between the four of them, Szayel was clearly the most unfortunate victim of bad publicity. It was amazing that he should carry himself as confidently as he did after having been rumored to be undergoing regular maintenance treatment for HIV, which he reportedly had transmitted from a former partner. For all that, the rumor weighed as much for Szayel as it did for Stark, for they were clearly an item, if not exactly a couple, and therefore were sleeping with each other—which would be reconciliatory to the likelihood of Stark also suffering from the disease. All these they brushed aside, simply because they were ridiculous on many levels and, on the whole, untrue. As for other matters of indecencies, particularly those which concerned the alleged public display of affection, they were infrequent and nothing one might refer to as indecent.

Grimmjow Jaggerjack, on the other hand, was harboring thoughts of a different nature. He had heard of intimacy between people who pursue common goals and interests, and he knew it need not have been obtained by some preexisting affection and other such underlying attachments. Eventually he learned that it was something he could pull. But, as much as this sort of proximity might indeed be earned, he wasn't so sure if it could be secured in a forever sort of way. To him, Kurosaki Ichigo hardly corresponded with anything friendship had to offer. Kurosaki was, to him, something more than that. So, first, he resolved to befriend him, to weld him insolubly in his life so that the younger man could not help but seek his company in his every waking hour. Next and lastly, he would make him fall hopelessly in love. But because the first was not frequently necessary, nor sufficient on its own, it was imperative to recourse to the second ultimately.

He would make him fall in love, one way or another. That was his resolve.

…

It was hard to tell who the better vocalist was. The quality of Ulquiorra's voice wasn't that of any other performer in his country, and that everyone knew with certainty. But when Grimmjow took the post beside him on stage and, in unison with him, sang the song they were plighted to perform, Ulquiorra was left to question his own talent, and his identity altogether. Never in his life had he been so bestrewn with uncertainty as he was now. He wanted to curse himself, to be cast into some extreme emotion other than this, knowing it wouldn't abate in so long as this man was skirting the pedestal where he and Ichigo were mounted.

The worst of it was, Ichigo was drawn to Grimmjow, as though he could not help it any more than he could forget his own name. Perhaps it had to do with Grimmjow's constant and rather blatant display of attachment toward him in full view of the public. By now, it was set like a natural order of things for Grimmjow to turn his head to where Ichigo was every damned once in a while, on stage or behind it, and flash him his most gorgeous smile which was consistently suffused with a meaning he alone could interpret. To complement this, the bassist would return the smile, for lack of a more creative response. As a result, Ulquiorra was often pissed as hell without knowing how to express his own annoyance, let alone stop it.

In between performances, Ichigo was self-respecting enough to spend his time at Ulquiorra's side, for comfort and as an unspoken assurance that he wasn't just about to end up in Grimmjow's arms.

"I'm not leaving you, sempai." He would constantly tell Ulquiorra.

How well this worked for the both of them was impossible to tell. But with all of Ichigo's effort the only satisfaction which conquered Ulquiorra's insecurities was rooted from the fact that hotel room arrangements decreed them to share a room.

"I'm fine with being alone, as long as you're not running off to lord-knows-where with that arrogant prick." Ulquiorra would answer.

Of course, out of all the nights they spent on the road there were some when neither of them managed to sleep, being in so close a proximity with each other. But the separate beds remained separate, their occupants never leaving them to join one other at any time during the night. Physical intimacy, without a question, was now something new to them. The present, it seemed, didn't appear to them a very convenient time to craft something as cheesy as romance. Perhaps all would be resolved once Grimmjow was finally blotted out of the picture, or so both thought.

"He's arrogant, but hardly a prick."

"Whatever."

…

Presently Ulquiorra was reading a novel in their hotel room, his back propped against a couple of oversized pillows. In the bed next to his, Ichigo was browsing cable channels one after the other in what seemed like an earnest attempt to forestall boredom. Sometimes, he wondered if Ulquiorra minded the lack of conversation as much as he did. Other times, he saw no reason for it—the silence—other than the mutual restraint between them; indeed there were times when they were on the brink of making out or sharing the shower. Unfortunately, they were very much conscious of the privacy invasion prevailing in the least holy of hours and anytime in between, as Shuhei or Renji would time and again walk through the door, a bucket of beer bottles in hand, each complaining of the other's lousy preference on television broadcasts.

As of now, their leader or drummer had yet to barge in. Just then a knock was heard. Vocalist and bassist cast the door a cursory glance, both expecting Shuhei or Renji to dart from it any minute now. But neither of the expected and unwelcome guests issued from the passage, nor did a click of the doorknob follow the initial set of knocks. It was just odd because their band-mates had never once bothered themselves with something as formal as an announcement of their intrusion. Normally they'd just pop out the door without announcements whatsoever.

"Is that you, Inoue-san?" Ichigo asked mechanically.

"It's me—Grimmjow."

Ulquiorra looked as though this particular development of events gave him all the reason to deplore the world. At best, he was at the moment only capable of sliding his back all the way down to the bed, so that he now was fully lying on his back like an invalid. Holding back the scowl that was in the meantime threatening to mar the permanence of the serenity of his countenance, he heaved a sigh. He then allowed both his arms to lay on his sides, leaving the paperback to cover his face, as if to shield himself from the awful, wearisome world.

Ichigo, on the other hand, sprinted over to the door and took a peek through the peephole. It was really Grimmjow in a hooded jacket, a bonnet over his head and pair of oversized shades over his eyes. When he thought of it, Los Espada chose the three-bedroom penthouse unit if only to hole themselves in complete privacy. They very seldom, if at all, left their suite. So, for the meantime, Ichigo could only ask himself as to what made the vocalist deviate from their usual course. Nevertheless, he opened the door.

"Need anything, Grimmjow?" Ichigo inquired.

"Wanna go for a drive downtown? The night is still young."

Ichigo, not without due hesitation, looked around at Ulquiorra who lay motionless on the bed, his book still over his face. For reasons quite known to all three of them, the pale vocalist was pretending to be somewhat out of words for this particular occasion but was, nevertheless, doing a very poor job at his own act. Ichigo would just be the person to note this defect. He did know his pseudo-boyfriend would've reacted sharply on Grimmjow's invitation if he could afford it. As of now, however, Ulquiorra was in no mood to argue.

"I'm not so sure I can." Ichigo said out of courtesy, or his usual tendency to appear impartial somehow.

Grimmjow looked over the bassist's back, as if to peruse the other person in the room.

"Hey, Ulquiorra, can I borrow your bassist for a while? I ain't gonna pull anything _funny_." He asked this not only without seeming to have something indecent in mind, but also on the whole he appeared to be void of intentions. As such, Ichigo could only await Ulquiorra's permission.

"Lock the door on your way out." was the vocalist's terse response.

It didn't occur to Grimmjow, delighted as he was, that Ichigo was hardly dressed for the weather outside, and much less did it cross his mind that he was winning all the hatred Ulquiorra could possibly feel. Pulling Ichigo by the sleeves with not the slightest of ceremonies, Grimmjow found himself half dragging the younger man all the way down the podium parking where his red Mustang was awaiting him. On the other hand, this little betrayal against Ulquiorra simply served to make Ichigo dwell on second thoughts.

"Where are you taking me?" He finally asked upon reaching the glorious vehicle.

"Put this on." Grimmjow slipped off his jacket and tossed it at his companion.

"What for?"

"Well, you'll see."

Ichigo slipped into the jacket before taking the passenger seat.

…

"This is a goddamn club." Ichigo was complaining.

They pulled over in front of a barren-looking building, whose neon lights pretty much spoke of the not-so-reputable activities contained within its walls.

"It's not. This is a small-time bar. Stark used to play here."

"Oh."

"Pull the hoodie on."

Ichigo did as he was told, realizing once and for all the purpose of their get-up; Grimmjow meant for them to retreat in anonymity, which didn't at all require quite a lot of effort since there were barely more than thirty occupants inside. Apart from the ambient mood, an amateur band was playing a subdued tune on the makeshift stage at the far end of the room. About ten pairs of people are on the floor, listening and watching, some of them swaying slightly from side to side in accordance with the melody. Grimmjow slid closer to the stage, his fingers around his companion's wrist.

Standing there and listening in absorption, as if to show reverence to a struggling band's earnest shot at fame, both got themselves lost in the tune, so that they were merely a speck among the lovers all around them. Indeed, a number of couples started kissing, all lost in a standstill. In time, Ichigo felt Grimmjow's fingers slowly entwining with his. He didn't pull away, rather he could not. It seemed like he suddenly found himself in a trance while Grimmjow, who was standing close behind him, started to take his chances. And Grimmjow was really the type who liked to take chances. He could feel the vocalist's abs pressing against his back, and right then he seemed to permit himself to allow intimacy…

No. He figured he was willing, and ready, to allow things much more complex than that. Thoroughly afraid to trust himself to speak a word, he leaned on his back, knowing Grimmjow was there to keep his balance. As lovers should, they huddled close.

"There's no friggin' privacy in the hotel." Grimmjow murmured against his ear. They were now too close for comfort.

"And you call this privacy?"

"At least they can't tell who we are."

He had a point.

"Why did you bring me here?"

Grimmjow was smelling his covered hair.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"It kinda is a little _too _obvious."

"Fuck the obvious, then."

"You assured Ulquiorra-sempai that you wouldn't pull anything funny." Ichigo said, as if in protest, as he grew all the more so riled because Grimmjow by now was burying his face against the side of his head, like a hungry wolf sniffing its prey.

"Does _this_ look funny to you?"

It didn't. What he was doing was nothing other than arousing.

"You wish to cross a certain line tonight, like what you did when you invited me to your apartment."

Grimmjow wrapped an arm around his shoulder. In that action did it become apparent how used he was to practicing with no success the art of disguising his intentions.

"Cross that line tonight. Put your lips on mine*." This time, Grimmjow alluded more pointedly to what he wished to happen. And now that Ichigo's list of excuses had lost itself, he once again submitted to his present fate.

Inside that place, in an enclosure packed with many lovers, they kissed many times.

**TBC**

*lyrics from a song by Keith Urban.

A/N: Well, this was fuckin' cheesy.


	12. Chapter 12

For whatever reason, Grimmjow dropped Ichigo at the hotel and drove away by himself to wherever. Ichigo had no idea why the vocalist acted thus, especially after what had transpired between them earlier, but he did know he also wished to be left alone—by Grimmjow if no one else. When he pitched himself to the swimming pool area, however, Szayel was there, alone and brooding, restless even. Perhaps, he shouldn't have walked in on him at this unholy hour and in this very sordid atmosphere. Perhaps he shouldn't have made it so obvious that he too was in need of comfort. But the night was pale and serene, and nothing would have been more pleasant than to sit on the edge of the pool and mull over whatever. So Ichigo advanced, excusing himself,

"I didn't mean to intrude."

Szayel was a man of many colors, of many moods, but ultimately a man of one desire. From where Ichigo stood, he could discern that this was a very hard time to thrust his presence in the solemn privacy of a man such as this pink-haired entity, who appeared to be brooding over unhappy thoughts.

"No worries. I was beginning to feel lonely anyway." Szayel answered, reaching out for a can of beer beside him which he subsequently tossed at Ichigo.

"Oh. It doesn't suit you, to be quite honest."

He figured Stark must have been the sort who couldn't be made to surrender. But as to how he recognized the exact same subject of Szayel's ruminations he could not have guessed.

"At least I'm more fortunate than you." Came Szayel's disjointed remark.

"Excuse me?"

As far as Ichigo was concerned, Szayel was drunk, if not temporarily crazy.

"Well, I don't know. Maybe because you love Grimmjow Jaggerjack _like no other?_ Poor you, really. And don't you deny it; you're a wreck waiting to happen. Our difference is, while you love a person who most definitely love you back, the awful truth remains; you can't have him for yourself _ever_. You know, Grimmjow is a very enigmatic creature. He looks fine, but deep inside him is a goddamned beast that cannot be contained, believe it or not. But, more than that, there's another man in your life. It so happens you're also in love with this other man, though in a different way. Am I hitting the right fucking strings?" Szayel was smiling, evincing the sort of mirth which could no longer be justified once the graveness of his implications were taken into account. As for Ichigo, it seemed useless to rebel against the truth, against what could not be altered, and Szayel told him nothing but the truth itself.

"And why can't I have your lovely vocalist, pray tell? I happen to know for a fact that the prick's madly in love with me." He answered with confidence, his tone somewhat argumentative.

"What, you think we artists, apparently the most complex of human beings, are tied to the same limits which so inhibit our less complex counterparts? You take Grimmjow all for yourself and then what? As for Ulquiorra, I'm sure he would go on with his life should you choose the other, but then _what_?"

"What indeed."

"I don't mean to sound like a prying son of a gun but I'm curious as to what he is to you. You dudes have only known each other for a few months and already you're sneaking in some precious private time in between schedules."

Like a surge of blinding recollection, Ichigo was struck once again by the idea that he and Grimmjow were sharing a very substantial connection, and he saw no reason all through his life why he and that man should be prevented from falling in love, from being one ultimately. Yet, a dark, ironic desire to be melancholy was within him, the sort to which young disappointed people were prone. No. chances were, Grimmjow Jaggerjack would never be his.

"I'm not really so fond of idle talk. But it's probably very similar to what Stark is to you. Let's leave it at that."

Szayel smiled. He need not hear further to assure the other that he understood. Additionally, just because his own moral dilemma was no less pressing it did not follow there was a need to sympathize to any extent. And so he spoke,

"How very noble. On other issues, your vocalist needs to alter his attitude, if not his life. Why, if speaking were illegal he'd be the only one to profit from the loss."

"Ulquiorra-sempai is improving, if you must know."

"Fine. But, to go back, you deserve our front man because?"

The question was enough to take the breath out of Ichigo, but he took no step to escape this predicament.

"No one said I do. I don't deserve him; nor does anyone else living or dead. I'll part with him soon enough, if that's what's right for this fucking lonely world." Ichigo declared casually.

"I'm impressed."

"To be fair in this game, let me say I'm also curious about what's going on between those two ears. You don't look like the emo type—I can tell that much from here—but you're being particularly emotional tonight. Care to speak?" There was an unmistakable tint of fascination playing on Ichigo's mouth as he spoke.

Szayel scoffed at the mention of Stark. He then realized he could, to a limited extent, appreciate this type of conversation, hence he went on,

"I believe I ought to leave that son of a bitch soon."

"Because? I sure wish you have a valid reason, Szayel-sempai."

"I do, and it's because you and I are alike. We're used to sacrifices, used to condescension, to giving way to what you may call the 'greater good'—you know, that type of bullshit and emo crap. I don't deserve him; never did in all the years I've known him and for all the good services I've so far rendered to this ugly world. But I'll love him for a long time; that much I know. It's not like time and circumstance can alter that. Besides, he recently got our former manager pregnant. Stark, a father—would you believe? Well, whatever the fucking case is, it seems every little thing is simply lending favor to the propriety of breaking up with the bastard."

Ichigo reached for another can of beer. For both of them, their prolonged, damp discussion answered no other purpose than to satisfy their fleeting need for private comfort. And while the mutual understanding was present, nothing more could be resolved as far as their love life was concerned. For now Ichigo had to raise his hand, a half empty can of beer along with it,

"So here's to the losers, I suppose."

"Cheers to the lonely and the damned." Szayel echoed. He added, "Where's that bastard, by the way? I thought he was with you."

"Grimmjow? I'm not so sure. He drove off somewhere else after he just about made out with me in fucking public."

Notwithstanding what Ichigo had just said both their attentions were seized by a bouncy ringing tune. Szayel's phone was raising hell, as if it spoke of some urgency and no other. At any rate, Szayel excused himself and brought the piece to his ear.

"Yosh, Jiruga. What do you want?"

A long pause succeeded his query, and before long Szayel was looking disquieted from every angle. Indeed the heaviness of his expression was misleading and somewhat worrying. The longer the silence stretched the more agitated he became until anyone with half a brain could say some bad news was being conveyed through that phone call. Just then, when he was done listening to his equally agitated band-mate from the other end of the line, the least expected of things came out of his mouth. Turning to Ichigo with mortification, Szayel spoke, his voice trembling,

"Dude, didn't you just tell me Grimmjow drove off immediately after he dropped you off the lobby?"

"Yeah… er, is something wrong?"

Instead of answering, Szayel rose to his feet in haste, appearing entirely sober. His manner of actions prompted Ichigo to do the same and to somehow sense the impending bad news. But before he could speculate, Szayel finally said,

"J-jiruga just called. He said a traffic enforcer contacted the hotel about seven minutes ago, telling them that Grimmjow's got himself into a _car accident_."

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

"C-car crash?" Was all Ichigo could say. The term sounded so alien, and maybe too dreadful all the same.

Szayel was scuffling beside him, while he himself could not remember how they had been suddenly transported into the lobby. For all he knew, this was the worst day of his life. And, of course, his mobile phone started ringing, right exactly at the time when he had not enough self-possession to mind it, or anything else besides the thought of Grimmjow Jaggerjack.

"Answer it." Szayel said, his manner somewhat demanding, as he paced up and down, apparently waiting for someone to appear out of the elevator.

"H-hello?"

"_Ichigo! A-are you alive?!"_

"Hisagi-san?"

"_Where the hell are you? S-starrk-san has just come banging into our room, telling us that Grimmjow ran into some accident. When I barged into your and Ulqui's room and told him, he went white as sheet. He told me you had gone away with Grimmjow! Where the fuck are you now?"_

"D-downstairs, at the lobby, with Szayel-san. Grimmjow dropped me off before heading somewhere else."

"_Thank goodness! We'll meet you at the hospital. I'll go and bring Ulqui back to his senses. Renji and I suspect he's off to pull the scalp off his head."_

A deafening silence entailed but before long the sound of the elevator bell came to introduce further anxiety between the two. Starrk and Jiruga emerged from the corner, a sense of morbid gloom hanging above them. Ichigo's and Szayel's conducts could've completed the misery, if only Starrk didn't charge directly at Szayel, to wrap him in a tight embrace. On any given day, many intrigues could've been derived from this extreme display of affection. But, as things were, urgent matters were at hand.

"I'm glad you're safe. I was certain you went down to join him." Was Starrk's explanation. Contrarily, Szayel had the air of one who was vastly preoccupied with matters which had little, if anything, to do with this sudden gesture of affection. Indeed, his response to this was to pry himself away, absently, and to dismissively say,

"Don't be a prat. I never would've jumped in on any passenger seat with that cocky bastard behind the wheel. Anyway, is he alive?"

Ichigo awaited Jiruga's answer with little patience, his yearning to hear the best being all but overpowering. In time, the drummer spoke,

"Barely, they say, but we'll learn soon enough. Let's go."

…

Plainly the pressing inquiries of the Los Espada's members were not to be handled with conventional ease. With the way Szayel was raising his voice over the officer's head, Ichigo could not see how the other could possibly comply. The hospital was running hectic as it was, but the addition of three formidable-looking men and their impatience was not going to yield a good outcome as far as gathering information was concerned.

And at the very same moment when Jiruga was about to tear through the operating room, or the next, a surgeon emerged from the door.

"Please observe silence, sirs. This is not a concert hall." She said through her face mask.

All at once, the three subdued, but perhaps only on the surface.

"How is he?" Ichigo heard himself ask.

"I assure you he is out of danger. He has, however, incurred a few broken ribs here and there and we are still probing the damage the impact has done to his spine. We are doing everything we can. Now if you please…"

"But is he in a coma?" Szayel inquired heatedly, although an obvious effort to appear calm was all the more evident.

The woman glanced at Szayel cautiously, or at least her eyes implied that much, and spoke, "Yes, he is. He has sustained injury on his head. That is, I'm afraid, all I can give you now.

She turned away at last, her manner somewhat less reassuring than when she'd shown up, leaving the four of them more distraught inside, and yet more listless on the surface. Not long after they were brought to this standstill, they were joined by Ulquiorra, Hisagi and Renji, who all looked nearly as crestfallen as they were. It took the newcomers a considerable time to get all the details, and in the end they were all forced to go home rather than to await the developments of Grimmjow's condition.

-Four weeks later-

"He is in stable condition, if that's what you wanna know. I'm not sure if he would like to receive guests but, of course, you're a different case. Drop by this afternoon, if you so want to see him." Szayel told Ichigo over the phone.

It had been four weeks since the accident. Four weeks, however, hardly served to weaken his terror about what had happened. Grimmjow had nearly died, or had been nearly paralyzed by the crash. It was a good thing he had been wearing his seatbelt, otherwise the result would've been more unfortunate. Meanwhile, Ichigo decided to visit him for the first time since he awoke from a short coma.

At the doorway, he could hear Grimmjow's voice loud and clear.

"These damn sheets are giving me bedsore." His voice was so alive with complaints that it was a question if he was indeed suffering from anything.

"It's a fucking small price to pay for that wreck you got yourself into, asshole. Shouldn't you be more grateful?" Came Jiruga's reply.

"Grateful to whom? I tell ya, man, this room is a fucking bore."

By this time, Ichigo had managed to draw attention to himself as he stood there unannounced and listening. He made an effort to move closer to Grimmjow, whose present state gave him much relief, and yet somehow the wish to stay any longer than necessary wasn't thick upon him. Starrk and Szayel were sitting across the room, while Jiruga was nestled closely at the patient. With everything in sight falling into due order, Ichigo spoke, looking at Grimmjow straight in the eyes,

"How have you been, Grimmjow?"

Grimmjow studied him from head to toe, his brows knitted, his gaze unwelcoming. It took him a while to disengage, and after that was done he turned to Jiruga, to unleash three words that would obliterate every sense of certainty in the room,

"Who's this punk?"

"…"

Nnoitora Jiruga turned his head to Ichigo and then back to Grimmjow, and on to Starrk and Szayel, who were now equally as confused as the rest of them.

"Don't be a dickwad. If you wanna spend time alone with Ichigo, it's as easy as throwing us three out. Let's go, guys." It was Starrk who spoke thus, believing Grimmjow was again in one of his unstable moods.

But it was a different feeling that coursed through Ichigo. He surveyed his lover, and saw in his eyes none of the eagerness or gladness he initially had expected to be there. Come to think of it, there wasn't even the slightest hint of recognition there. In a heartbeat, he was overcome by some horrendous thought, that Grimmjow had…

"What? Are you bastards up in arms with something here? Leaving me alone with a random bloke? What's up with that shit anyway?" This time, Grimmjow's irritation proved harder to miss, and the genuineness of it no less. Anyone could suspect he was simply pulling their legs, elsewise it also might have been a very good act. But Grimmjow wasn't the joking type; this was the thought that made its way to everyone's head at the moment.

"Are you being fucking serious here?" Jiruga asked their vocalist, incredulous.

"Am I fucking serious? I'm practically begging you not to leave me with this punk, idiots, because, as I have been saying over and over again, I don't deal with strangers."

'Strangers' was the word that resonated deep in Ichigo's soul, as if he had never known the strength of the word before now. Now bereft of composure, he took a small step backward, feeling impelled to turn around and not to look back. Even as Starrk whispered the term 'selective amnesia' against Szayel's ears nothing in what was happening was achieving the slightest clearance. For all Ichigo knew, the world had grown bleaker and darker within the four short minutes he had spent standing there.

In time, Szayel rose to his feet and spoke,

"Looks like misfortune didn't come single this time. I'll ring the doctor."

TBC

A/N: LOL it's been a while since my last update. I noticed yesterday that I still had this chapter in reserve. after this, though, i dunno what's gonna happen with this piece of cheesy crap. i haven't had the mood to edit this though.


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: This will disappoint._

Selective amnesia, it was called, and Ichigo wondered why he, of all people, had to be that one person in the world to be sentenced into oblivion, as far as Grimmjow's mind was concerned. Perhaps it was nature's way of delivering what it must see done, he thought.

Grimmjow had, in fact, forgotten about him, and there appeared to be no promise of a change in the near future. On the other hand, Ichigo appeared to regard him sullenly, hardly speaking even when they were thrown into the same room during parties and conferences. In many of these occasions, Grimmjow would bring a random woman with him. Often they'd disappear behind closed doors, only to reemerge later on, the look of disarray so prevalent in their appearances, ultimately giving too fine an account of their private activities.

Were it not for the sake of putting up a brave face, Ichigo would have acquitted himself of Grimmjow long ago. All the same, life's meaning, if there was any left for Ichigo, was thinning out. And yet somehow, in the oddest corners of his soul, he knew it would be best if he suffered for it.

And he was suffering.

"Trust me on this, Kurosaki." Szayel assured Ichigo, as if he owed it to everyone to satisfy the younger bassist as far as possible. In truth, he had of late been throwing awkward get-togethers between the Los Espada and Ulquiorra's band, if only to stimulate Grimmjow's mind into recovering his lost memories. This time, however, only he, Ichigo and Grimmjow agreed to be present for the drinking party which was to take place in the VIP room of one of the busiest clubs in the city.

When they entered the private room, however, a nasty sight was awaiting them. Grimmjow, was surrounded by four or five women, all of whom scantily clad. None of it would've been somewhat disturbing if Grimmjow hadn't had the nearest girl in a tight liplock. Indeed, Ichigo fancied the two were either trying to get their faces swapped, what with the disgusting proximity, or were shooting what was to be a soft porn film. But the sight grew more horrid to Ichigo as soon as Szayel made a motion to announce their presence there, for Grimmjow merely opened an eye and gave them a cursory glance. If the last thing Ichigo wanted to happen to himself at the moment was to watch Grimmjow and a nymphomaniac put on a show, staying here for another minute was rest-assuredly something much worse. At that, Ichigo felt a certain numbness across his chest, there being no point of equilibrium between gaining sensation and losing it. Moreover, the apologetic look Szayel was giving him was for the meantime of no more use to him than bubbles.

_Why the fuck do I ever allow Szayel-san to drag me around like this? Over and over again?_

Unable to withstand the rest of Grimmjow's antics, Ichigo chose to follow his own convenience and marched off, ignoring Szayel's pleas. As of now, all he wished for was to be exempt from further anxiety. Of course he could achieve just that, and all he had to do was to observe the simple condition of having Grimmjow thoroughly blotted out of his goddamned mind. That he meant to do through sheer will. This train of thought ran through his head as he pitched himself onto the club's dance floor.

_Rather, why the fuck do I ever bother with that son of a gun and his freaking amnesia?_

As expected, the sight of wild dancing, the number of people on the floor and the sound of the booming music struck him as odious all at once. It then occurred to him that he was incensed. The feeling was vague, yet somehow mastering. As a matter of fact, he was only waiting for some kind of a provocation. If someone so much as bumped shoulders with him he'd throttle that bastard to death, he swore. Just then, he heard a commotion from four or five meters from him. Not long after he craned his neck to nose around, a bottle of vodka flew over his head, to crash somewhere. There was a freaking brawl. Apparently, two young men had taken it upon themselves to settle the matter as to who deserved the girl in the halter top, through fist fight. This simply amplified the current madness that was seizing him. For some reason, he instantly wished he could trade places with one of the dudes, so that he could land punches on someone else's face. There simply was no legitimacy to this feeling, but he could not repress it, could hardly get past acquiring some savage excitement.

_All this self-destructive antic because of Grimmjow Fucking Jaggerjack, huh? Challenge accepted._

And so he squeezed his way toward the two brawling dudes. Without his mind giving any distinct order, he found his fists crashing against the skull of the smaller punk, repeatedly. He could not even tell how he had ended up on top of the guy. All he knew was, he didn't wish to stop until the other stopped breathing.

"Oh my god! Stop it, Kurosaki-kun!" He heard from behind him. It was some random girl.

The appeal was followed by other horrid sounds, all of which quite akin to the squawks of ravens in a nightmare. Indeed this was a nightmare. But it was little else to him other than what he needed, so he kept on burying his angry fists on the man he knew nothing of. Even as a number of pair of hands attempted to pry him away from the dude, he did not stop. He could not. He did not stop until a sharp pain exploded at the top of his skull. Why he should suddenly determine to part with his current occupation did not become apparent to him immediately. But then the sight of glass shards around him alerted him to some realization. Someone had fucking smashed a bottle on his head. The suspicion grew more solid as a warm sensation crept from his hair and down to his face. He was bleeding, and profusely at that. As his instinct dictated, he rolled over to his side, made a motion to stand up, only to be assailed by some debilitating drowsiness. He looked down on his shirt. It was soaked with blood. His blood.

_This is not enough. Still not enough._

Shrieks and panic assailed the air, but none of them was as alarming as what he saw next. The dude he had just beaten to a bloody pulp was now on his feet, charging toward him. In the next minute, he blacked out, a knife stuck at the side of his torso.

-three weeks later, in a hospital room-

"When are you getting the hell out of here?" Szayel asked Ichigo, who lay with two pillows propped on his back. On the chair beside him, Ulquiorra had his nose buried on another novel.

"Another week, I suppose."

Szayel had been visiting every other day with at least one of his band-mates. Today it was Grimmjow who was with him. This was also Grimmjow's fourth time to visit Ichigo on his hospital bed. In each of his visits, he would find Ulquiorra seated beside his infirmed band-mate, hardly making a freaking sound. In accordance to that, it seemed, Ichigo appeared to have been sharing his band-mate's mood; he also barely spoke whenever Grimmjow was present.

"Sucks to be you." Szayel interposed. He then unburdened himself with the guitar on his back before motioning at Grimmjow, who was also carrying a guitar, to do the same. Szayel resumed, turning to Ulquiorra, "Anyway, we brought guitars. I just thought you two are getting more and more bored to death each day. Really, Ulquiorra, I don't know why you can't just leave Ichigo here with the nurses. It's not like they're gonna rape him."

Ichigo blushed. On the other hand, Ulquiorra closed his book shut and placed it on the bedside table. He spoke, in the lowest undertone,

"Who knows?"

Ichigo's blush went deeper. To dispel the awkwardness, he joined the conversation,

"That's thoughtful of you, Szayel-san."

"I know, right? You ought to buy me a fucking drink or two once you get discharged. Anyway, care to jam, Ulquiorra, Grimmmjow?"

Ulquiorra stared at Los Espada's vocalist, his gaze never for a second faltering. Just then his desire to make something happen out of this opportunity was overtaking him. Before he could stop himself, he held out a hand to Szayel, gesturing at the guitar the latter was cradling,

"Hand that guitar over here."

"Excellent. Are you gonna use yours, Grimmjow? Or would you rather lend us vocals?" Szayel asked.

Grimmjow, for his part, passed the other guitar to his band-mate. He stole a glance at the person on the bed, who was now gazing engagingly at the other vocalist in the room. For a reason quite unknown to him, the spectacle intensified the sudden sense of forlornness he was now starting to feel. Just what was this feeling? Doubtless he was already feeling strange because of this, and even more so because he couldn't tell why. But Ulquiorra's voice deferred his musing,

"Tracks, anyone?"

"Name a tune, Kurosaki. We're here to entertain you." Szayel persuaded.

"Well, I don't know. River of Deceit?" Ichigo named the first song that came to mind.

Grimmjow, who was now fighting the urge to walk away, felt a sudden jolt of uneasiness. It was definitely one of his favorite songs. Hence now he was compelled to remain, if only to find out what was the more potent cause of the strangeness surging over him; was it the elected song itself or the person who had requested it?

"Good choice. I'll play the guitar solos. I leave the rhythm and the vocals to you, Ulqui." Szayel appointed, to which Ulquiorra protested,

"Ichigo will sing. He knows this song best."

Again, the bassist reddened, but conceded nevertheless, "Fine."

"Oh, that leaves our poor Grimmy here as background vocalist. I'm sorry but you're gonna have to step away from the spotlight, at least for today. You can sing along, though, if you want."

The sound they made rang down the hallway. But, when Ichigo commenced the lyrics, there was an instant there which Grimmjow fancied to be stinging. The whole of this gig seemed to be void of intentions, and yet why did he feel like he was being pushed into a corner, deliberately by something he could not define? Slowly, by degrees, he deduced that the sound of Ichigo's voice was entailing larger demands than he could fulfill. The voice definitely sounded familiar but it wasn't the familiarity that was striking him dumb; it was the owner himself. He had been told he was suffering from selective amnesia, knew that his brain specifically had blotted Kurosaki Ichigo from his remembrance. He also had been told he and Ichigo had been once upon a time some kind of childhood friends, or _something_. But now he was starting to learn that, more than anything else, they had been more than just friends. They _had _to have been much more than that. In fact…

He stared at the singing bassist, only to feel an unexpected uproar beneath him.

Just like that, he started remembering who this man really was. Like some raider of tombs, his mind was now embarking into the forgotten avenues of his memories. All the same, this surge of recollections did little justice to the intensity of the uproar inside him. Indeed he felt vulnerable, as a human that he never thought he was should feel. He was a rock star, almost a god, but so fragile underneath it all. Why?

His heart just then began to pound like a bastard, the unrelenting turmoil welling up in it unbeknownst to the other three individuals in the room.

_Why does it fucking seem like it's too late to remember now, even as everything is slowly creeping back?_

The answer to his question came to swallow him whole, as soon as he presided to interpret the gazes Ulquiorra and Ichigo were exchanging, and the wordless understanding between them. Mutuality, was it? Affection? Love even? God forbid the last one. He couldn't bear the thought. Somehow, it pained him to know that he wasn't strong enough to command his feelings, that his private comfort could so be easily assailed by something as petty as jealousy. Finally, without explanations, without even the slightest syllable, he rose to his feet. And then slowly, like some absentminded fool, exited the premises, leaving the three in their gig. And they went on playing the song, without the slightest idea about what had just taken place inside the mind of Grimmjow Jaggerjack.

_He doesn't even bother to call me back. Too late, I'm fucking too late._

TBC

A/N:_ This was meant to be the last chapter and it was originally written in a way that gave more significance to philosophical introspection rather than to the plot itself. In short, it used to be plainer and therefore crappier, if that's even possible. But someone has been giving me ideas on how to include angst. I found that her suggestions would somehow enrich the so-called plot, or lack thereof, of this crap. Naturally, I have no choice but to honor these suggestions, if only to salvage this sh*t. _So I can't thank you enough for that,** Hollow Ichigo-Ichigo. **_I myself am at the end of my rope as to how this piece of crap should conclude. Also, there initially seemed to be a need for me to prolong Ichigo's agony, i.e. Grimmjow regaining his memories much later on or in another chapter, but I really am NO longer in the mood to lengthen this thing. It has in fact become a chore for me to write. Again, thank you for reading. Next chapter will be the last._


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: At 2,800+ words, this is gonna be long and cheesy.

…

Ichigo believed whatever he and Grimmjow had shared ended at the same moment the Los Espada vocalist had walked out of his hospital room. He believed he would never cross paths with him ever again. It was in no sense romantic, neither was it tragic. It was, if anything, simply just. And so they were sundered… for a time.

…

TWO years after his own mishap, Ichigo, tuning in to FM, chanced upon a radio show while driving alone in Ulquiorra's outdated Camaro. Around this time he and Ulquiorra were sharing a flat and were living in contentment, as one might call it. Nevertheless, Ichigo couldn't help the coldness that ran down his spine when the radio announcer introduced his guests for the night.

"And here with me tonight, ladies and gentlemen, are Grimmjow, Stark and Jiruga of the very famous Los Espada. They're gonna pull a Buckcherry. So, from a few years back, here's 'Don't Go Away'. A few words before we start, if you please, Grimmjow."

It seemed to Ichigo that he was starting to recognize some previously unknown compulsions of his being. The song didn't quite suit Los Espada, not even one bit, and yet he sure wanted to see how it would go. When Grimmjow's voice shot out from the speaker, however, he realized he had to pull over to a shoulder lane, if only to listen hard.

"Let's just say this song more or less sums up the most part of the past two years, at least in my case." Grimmjow finished.

"So you are singing this for someone? Well, you don't have to answer that. What a lucky girl, though." The announcer teased. Almost simultaneously Jiruga struck the Cajon to commence the performance.

The rendition of the track was subdued and, above all, better than any other cover Ichigo had so far heard. For whatever sentiment the performance was delivering, there was no denying he was feeling himself bombarded by countless sentiments which bring nothing but indecision. _'Please don't go away. You're making a mistake_.' Really, the lyrics were horrible at best, straightforward, with nothing of the subtlety so commonly exercised by writers. He nevertheless double-checked the frequency glowing on the stereo; 89.9. If his memory should be counted upon, the radio station was about eight minutes from where he currently was. Not knowing in the least what exactly his heart demanded of him, he raced through the highway.

…

The assistant led him to the booth, where the announcer and the three members of Los Espada were chatting. He only meant to stay for a while, to catch a glimpse of Grimmjow in the very least, but Jiruga looked up and alerted the others of his presence. Instantly the vocalist scuffled to his feet, his sudden movements conspicuous. He then excused himself to his companions and shot out of the booth.

Blue eyes met hazel eyes.

Surveying the vocalist from head to toe, not only did Ichigo right away realize he needed to repress his emotions but also there seemed to be a need to repress his humanity itself. And Grimmjow had grown more handsome than before, being now twenty-six years of age, the contours of his face finer and more pronounced than ever.

"It's been a long while, Kurosaki."

"Two years."

Grimmjow did not answer immediately. In the brief moment of passage in which both drifted to a short repose, the Los Espada front-man was averting his eyes, only betraying the emotion which had been there right from the start, all along. In time he seized the bassist by the wrist, pulling him to an empty corridor.

"I cannot accept that you will just fucking pass me by and grace my life with what you call your presence, to ultimately end up _going away_." Grimmjow started through gritted teeth.

Ichigo went rigid. He wondered, with no certainty, if Grimmjow was drunk, or was simply acting stoned. For while he expected he would one day have to explain to this man the past they had shared, never had it occured to him that Grimmjow himself would initiate discussing it, because of a very imposing reason: Grimmjow had no memory of him prior to his car accident more than two years previously.

But chances were…

"W—what are you saying, Grimmjow?"

Ichigo now turned his face away in earnest. He was prepared to accept the possibility forming in his head, but he was not prepared, in spite of his intelligence, to let this fact seize his composure entirely. But it would do just that anyway.

"I remember now."

Those words rang violently in Ichigo's head. His nerves, never of the strongest, now seemed to be wallowing in a very bad state of repair. Seven hundred and odd number of days; that was the amount of time that had passed between now and the bitter acceptance he had been forced to confront, the acceptance that, to Grimmjow Jaggerjack, he no longer existed. But now, faced with a reality he could hardly bear to hear, much less swallow, Ichigo could only ask,

"H—how? Just when?"

"In the hospital where you lay recuperating from a knife wound. You, singing that fucking song, was like a splash of ice-cold water. And then there was Szayel, cooking up this stint of jamming in your hospital room like it was nothing. Your singing voice shook me awake. To add on that, Ulquiorra, that bastard, never for half a fucking blink left your side, and you two couldn't take your eyes off each other. Perhaps that was what did my amnesia in, or maybe all of those added up. Something then stirred from the depths of my soul, and that something did for me what all those doctors and their bogus therapies failed to do. If you had a decent memory, you'd remember I walked the fuck out, like someone bewitched. In truth, I _couldn't_ stand any of it."

"That was two years ago! And did you sing that stupid Buckcherry song for me just now?" Ichigo inquired, choking back the lump that had built up at the back of his throat.

"What are you, some kind of a toilet seat? Sensitivity, man. Didn't I just say 'past two years' right before we commenced?"

"Why didn't you reach out to me? All this time?!"

"I'm not so sure. Perhaps because I could not bear the thought of you and Ulquiorra together? That aside, remember the time when you were the one who forgot? You didn't even recognize me as that fucking punk on the bus who prattled endlessly about Alice in Chains. But I came back, after eleven fucking years, if only to make you remember this face, this voice. And what did you give me in return when it was _my_ turn to fucking forget everything? I slipped into coma, suffered fucking amnesia, and you never once thought of searing your existence back into my memory? Did you even fucking try? Explain yourself, damn it."

Grimmjow's words were unsparing, and it was hard to think they were free from guile. For all that, it was long before Ichigo ceased to doubt anything upon the matter, that Grimmjow had now, in fact, completely reacquired his memory.

"I could not look forward to meeting you again without being alarmed, much less attempt to bring your memories back. You surrounded yourself with women, slept with them even, and that stabbed me deeper than any knife could ever do. More than that, haven't you noticed what life has been _thrusting_ on us all along?"

"What?"

"That we are _meant _to part. Twice we've been sundered, and that ought to be enough to tell you… Grimmjow, you and I ended two years ago, or maybe even before that. Maybe we were over the moment you hopped off that bus thirteen years back, back when we were children."

"You ended us two fucking years ago. You never came back to me, and you're insolent enough to blame it on life, perhaps on your god." Came Grimmjow's reply. As he spoke, his heart seemed to authorize what it could hardly regulate; his emotions were beginning to get the better of him. But before his case could be further argued, he heard Ichigo say,

"Why did you come back? Why, after all those years? That meeting thirteen years ago; that was chance. We were children. Wouldn't it have been better if we had just gone on with our own lives—"

"—and be fucking strangers to one another? How dare you!" This time, Grimmjow's gaze, coupled with the voice he used, was lethal.

"Don't say that. We'll never be strangers to one another, even if you beg for the contrary. If I lose sight of you I, in turn, lose sight of myself. So answer me, why did you come back?"

"I came back because I needed to assert the reality of you; that you didn't just disappear and that, above all, I wasn't imagining your very existence." Los Espada's vocalist recommenced with difficulty, as if his own thoughts were impossible to articulate, "Young and deluded though I was, I kept faith. It wasn't about our rock icon Layne Staley. In fact, it was _never _about him; I really thought we found each other for a _reason_. And just as something cheesy and lame was starting to take shape inside my head, you had gone and _never _returned. I was starting to lose hope some nine or eight years ago; indeed I did lose hope. But then you turned up on a free-admission show as a substitute vocalist for an ailing front-man. You were maybe fifteen years old. Seeing you again for the first time after all those years had me in a state of alarm. I didn't know what to say or do, so much indeed that I just stared at you. Little did I know that I myself was yearning for a recognition which, in the end, didn't come, or would come _too late_. Unfortunately, there wasn't any of that sort. I was a few feet in front of you, and yet there was not the tiniest sign of recognition, or of anything I expected. I couldn't believe you had simply forgotten. So please understand that I had to come to you. I had to be a star myself, if only to _reach _you. If only. If only we had reunited right then and there…"

Both retreated to silence, to stillness which served as that one reprieve between their dreary thoughts. In time, Ichigo spoke,

"Let me start by saying it hurts me to say, or to even admit to myself, that I cannot live within your constant presence. As much as I loved, and still love, the way the world worked ten or so years ago it is beyond my power to retrieve that. Yet, out of all things, there is you. You bring me back. You keep it alive. It didn't matter that Ichigo Kurosaki ceased to exist in your world the moment you woke up on a hospital bed. To me, you're the one who's anchoring me to a world which isn't supposed to prevail anymore. Even the mere sight of you and the sound of your voice are enough to do that. I think, yes, I might as well have been in love with you all along, not because you can bring all the joy at my feet but because you are simply too real to me. But that sort of happiness should last for less than a lifetime, and often they end tragically. I do not wish to live a complex life, and you consist of all the complexities the world has to offer."

Grimmjow examined his lover's face, at the same time feeling himself reduced to a mere speck. Somehow, he knew that being with Kurosaki ultimately must be regarded as, if anything, a remote chance. But, remote or realistic, he took his chance right then and there, grabbed Ichigo by the neck and kissed him with torridness that was almost unsightly. To his brief satisfaction, the bassist did not pull away. In time, he asked,

"Kurosaki, what the fuck are you trying to tell me here?" Grimmjow was snarling.

"I kinda wish to move on." Ichigo answered, his decision final, irrevocable. At the same time, he felt so undone by his own weakness and by the love for this man whom he resolved never to hold again.

"Do you even love that man—Ulquiorra?" Was all Grimmjow could say. Personally, he really believed there was no better time than the present to put forward this larger-than-life query.

"Yes."

"And me?"

Far from wincing at the other's vehemence, Ichigo was somehow convinced all this was an act of fate rather than a force of emotions between two lovers. Having no grand words to explain his side, he took his shot and started,

"What I feel for Ulquiorra is like some paint or other coloring on an ancient wall. Time, weather, abuse, neglect and other tests of permanency, I believe, _can _alter it. But you—you, to me, seemed to be the ancient wall itself, if nothing else. Not the wind nor the centuries can annihilate you from my mind, I think."

Grimmjow could hardly designate a singular thought to what he was told. All he knew was, Kurosaki did love him and that his chest was starting to tighten…no matter; it would have been worth his entire life just to experience that feeling. Needless to say Ichigo's words struck him as a vexation such as he had not known for years, Grimmjow slackened his posture, ran his fingers over his scalp and shut his eyes in repose. He spoke, after having ascertained he had gathered his composure,

"You love me? You do realize that, on account of that, you have absolutely no right to leave me, or don't you?"

"I do."

"And still you would go your fucking way? I get to be fucking undone all at once; it's really that shitty?"

"Exactly."

It then dawned on the vocalist that the firmness of Ichigo's resolve presented a certain reality, a reality from which neither of them could escape. Both smiled bitterly, humorlessly, and all that was missing was salvation, absolution. But there was no assurance that even that would be enough.

"So you are simply the one that got away." Grimmjow droned on.

"Precisely that. But we made it through without each other for two years. That's quite a long time—"

"—what's time got to do with it?" Fervent and yet desperate, Grimmjow was well on his way to yielding his ground, whatever his ground might have been, to finally face the reality before him. To gain ownership of this man was now nothing but fantasy; this man whom he loved so well. But in return he had the assurance of something larger—of love everlasting, he fancied. At the same time, never would he have believed he could be this fucking cheesy.

"Nothing, it seems."

At long last, both recognizing the need to honor what was permanent and immovable, the vocalist looked away, if only to dispel the submission bearing down on them, on him most of all. It was also here that Grimmjow deduced how saying nothing would certainly be useless and perhaps might be sadder. Still, he found himself engulfed by a desire to win just one last victory over Ulquiorra Cifer, and so he spoke,

"Try to hold me in your mind. If it isn't too much to ask, send me your messages, particularly those which you can't express in plain words, by whatever other means you can conduct, if only to confirm my presence in your mind. If we can't be together physically at least do something for us. Sing for me. Play the bass for me. Write lyrics for me. Let me still be the _one_." Grimmjow ended his appeal.

Indeed, he was the one.

Grimmjow Jaggerjack was that one great truth, the star shining forever over his head, and Kurosaki himself was no longer praying for a chance nor waiting for a closure. For all he knew, Grimmjow's story would never come to a close. It would haunt him for all the years to come so that the vocalist's memory was ever in him, to remain there always—perhaps until time stood still.

Something told them the world would sooner come to ruin before this night would reach its end. In fact, Ichigo fancied he could stay like this forever, in front of this man. He so wished for time to freeze right now, so that they would _never_, ever, have to part again.

TBC/END

Epilogue ongoing. Maybe.

_A/N: Okay, kill me now. I just wanna say soul-mates often DON'T end up together LOL._


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I was looking through my hard drive and discovered I had in fact written an epilogue for this? Really? I hated this crap from start to finish and had decided to forget ever writing something like this by the time I uploaded chapter 15. I did check chapter 15 and it turns out I did say I was writing one last chapter. Well, here goes. I'm not gonna bother editing this. Pardon me.**

True to his word, Szayel dumped Stark right after Ichigo got discharged from the hospital. Six years later Stark married Los Espada's former manager, Nel, with whom he now had a son. He had assigned Szayel as the best man to his wedding; a choice which had caused a few eyebrows to travel higher up their foreheads. Nevertheless, it appeared all was over for the two musicians. Or so Stark thought. While Szayel was enjoying his freedom and basking in his own fame, Stark was starting a family. But the worst part was, he fancied he had never felt so alone. And then finally, in the long run, like a predicament that usually struck people like a stab, he realized he had been happiest in the company of his band-mate. Now, however, there was no reversing his mistakes. After all, family comes first. From time to time, however, his mind would voyage to the bassist, never realizing, not even for the life of him, that he might as well have been in love with him.

Jiruga and Inoue started dating officially after one year of courtship. Right from the start, no one really had taken them seriously-until they announced their status-mostly because those who knew them at any depth could neither comprehend nor accept the fact that someone as pretty as Inoue had given herself up for someone like… Jiruga. But regardless of protests and other oppositions, both meant to be serious. As things were, Inoue held on tight as manager of Helios.

Renji went on to date models and celebrities one after the other. For years he would be seen skirting parties and events, living the high life which his fame promised, knowing that his youth would one day be depleted. Indeed, life had favored him quite as much as he had desired. In time, though, all those parties and wild overtures began to get sour. He started to tire of the women and the photoshoots-of fame altogether. And he wondered if fulfillment was waiting for him elsewhere.

Hisagi was, perhaps, the most successful among them. Because he was naturally cautious of his reputation and from the start had been wise beyond his years he decided to sink away from the spotlight little by little, just in time to avail himself with a new form of occupation. Being the musical genius that he was, he knew too well how to go on investing his talents in enterprises which would keep the money rolling in. He opened a recording studio soon after the advent of the pop sensations, and from there built his own little empire as producer and songwriter of a number of decent, rising talents. Of course he would time and again be invited to guest-star in live performances which then ensured his continuing fame.

As for Ichigo Kurosaki, his last conversation with Grimmjow, was as bright as a flame in his head.

He chose Ulquiorra because of the love between them. He chose the gentler creature because he knew exactly what held them together; love, which was much less than what he had for Grimmjow, ironically. What he had for Grimmjow, he believed, was much higher than that, much more than a human feeling. No one could establish if such a feeling/emotion existed but, in Ichigo's case, he could, except that he couldn't describe it, much less define it, and much, much less assign a name to it. Indeed Grimmjow Jaggerjack was his first love, his last love, a love at first sight, love at last sight. Sadly it was as good as fantasy and plainly not meant to be. In simpler terms, Ichigo kept all this in his heart, to let time know that nothing in this feeling could be forced to decay.

To him, Grimmjow Jaggerjack was the right one, only that he had to be the one that got away.

**END**

A/N: damn cheesy shit. Somewhere along the way I was tempted to change the title to 'The One That Got Away' because it's just too damn cheesy. Thanks for reading this crap through the end, nevertheless.


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